


Handle with care

by fabricdragon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Dubious Consent, Food Kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mind Palace, Multi, NOT a good relationship model, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Psychopaths In Love, Rape/Non-con Elements, Touch-Starved, WIP, mormor, mormorcroft, owing to captivity and consciousness, unexpected comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:07:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Set after a (modified) Season 4, Mycroft Holmes is in a precarious political position and has to take  a less than pleasant assignment..and gets captured.don't ask me how i got from the prompt "Touch starved" to here... my muse was drunk i think.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oswin42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswin42/gifts), [InnerSpectrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/gifts), [sgam76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgam76/gifts), [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts), [RussianWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/gifts), [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts), [Tigresse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/gifts), [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts), [Fee_Verte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fee_Verte/gifts).



One minute everything had been merely going badly–Mycroft had been sent out of London for a high security meeting– and the next it had plunged directly into unmitigated disaster.

The attendees were on their knees, hands on their heads… and the people pointing guns at them looked entirely too agitated and angry.  _Less than ten percent chance of survival unless something very unexpected happened: Analysis, take any possibility to escape._ When they started shooting the prisoners, Mycroft attempted to fight or flee, only to be hit by a rifle butt and forced down.

“{Looks like we have a volunteer.}” One of the sub commanders yanked his head back, pulling out hair. Mycroft’s head was spinning from the blow and all he could think was _“As if I don’t already have a receding hairline…”_

He was dragged to the center of the room and several of the men aimed cameras at him.  Mycroft was attempting to fix a pleasant memory in his mind–not wanting to have this be the last thing in his mind before his death– when someone stopped his execution. “{He looks familiar? Don’t shoot him yet… hold him up.}”

They hauled him to his feet, blood running down his scalp from the blow; he tried to hold himself with some dignity as the man pulled out his cell phone and took a picture.  Mycroft expected it to be a ransom demand, or a trophy, but… no… _he was running an application?  Facial recognition?_   The man’s face lit up and he started chattering happily to everyone about how much “Mycroft Holmes” was worth.

The fact that his face was on an identification program was a concern of the highest order, but Mycroft ruthlessly pushed it aside: being sold meant being alive. Being alive meant chances to escape.  Mycroft kept trying to tell himself that this was a good thing, but he knew what could happen to him–things that were far worse than being shot.

“{My government will match it.}” Mycroft offered.

“English!” one of the men said disparagingly–and in English. “As if we would deal with such pigs.”

Mycroft was hauled away and could only listen as the gunfire told him none of his colleagues were going to see the morning.

If only.

Mycroft had a lot of ‘if onlies” to go over.  If only he hadn’t lost so much status after everything. If only he hadn’t been forced to take this meeting.  If only he had stabbed himself in the leg with his letter opener as he had been tempted to in order to avoid coming to this at all.

But he’d had to go–his status was far too precarious to avoid it.

Which left him at the mercy of his current captors. After transporting him very roughly to a new location they had locked him in a room, hands behind his back and fingers going numb, stripped to his underwear–which was just rude, really–and it had been twenty three hours without food, water, or bathroom breaks.

Mycroft only kept from screaming out of pride, and only kept from throwing up at the smell because it would make it worse.

He was fighting for his own survival.  Right now that involved being still enough to conserve energy, and moving enough to keep some circulation in his hands and feet.  He had to stay coherent enough to watch for opportunities to escape. They were selling him for what they thought was a vast sum of money–Mycroft was concerned that there would simply be an ‘accidental’ airstrike, but that at least would be quick.

 _I have a concussion_.  He realized at some point when the incoherency of his thoughts became apparent. 

Thirty six hours after he was identified he was hauled out for sale–Thirty-five hours forty two minutes, fifteen seconds until… Mycroft shook his head blearily and realized that he’d lost about eight minutes.

“{You’ve verified your payment–}” While not speaking English that was an English voice.  Not one he recognized, however.  “{Where is the merchandise?}”

Mycroft lifted his head as he was dragged in and saw a well-dressed man, superficially quite ordinary looking but his stance and the custom tailored jacket to cover the holster said something else.  There were four other men flanking him…

The man looked over and stared at him and a very unfriendly smile crossed his face. “Now there’s a good look on you…”

“{As you see?}” one of the men nodded.

“Lovely.” The Englishman said and nodded. “Brandon, give the man his payment.”

Knowledge crystalized in Mycroft’s mind:  None of his captors were going to live to spend the money–likely they wouldn’t leave the room alive. This was personal, despite the fact that he’d never met the man. They’d switched briefcases and that one was explosive.

When the briefcase exploded, Mycroft was braced to run.

He made it farther than he might have expected–the sounds of gunfire and explosions probably serving very well to distract his pursuit, but a sudden burning pain in his leg took him down.  He looked back to see his purchaser a rather extreme distance away for a pistol shot… he walked up casually.

“Now you see, Mycroft… that could have been avoided.”

“I’m worth far more in one piece.” Mycroft said as he tried to work against the pain. _Non-lethal shot, didn’t hit bone, could still cripple him._

“I’m not killing you.” the man said with an exceedingly unpleasant smile.  His hand snapped up and he fired, taking out one of the locals with nearly insulting ease.

Mycroft was dragged into a helicopter and restrained… the leader got in after him.

“Take off; the men can finish this one.”  He said, lighting up a cigarette.

They treated the bullet wound in his leg efficiently and without sympathy.  He was given fluids and treated for his injuries… and at some point he was drugged into oblivion.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to his new owner, Mycroft has drinks and a discussion, sort of.  
> once he stops being sick.  
> (Red heads, and those who carry the red haired genetics (yes like me) often have poor responses to anesthesia and pain medicine. Mycroft is either a red head or carried the gene.)
> 
> My hubby is still quite ill, please bear with me.

When Mycroft woke up he was sick.  It took quite a bit of time for his mind to come back enough to realize that he was having the usual horrible responses to anesthetics.  Mostly he just lay quietly throwing up into an emesis basin and hoping someone would kill him: that was his usual response to waking up from anesthesia, even without being a captive and facing probable torture.

Eventually he managed to lift his head enough to look around: not a hospital, someplace that had been set up with field equipment.  He was handcuffed to the bed–and one ankle as well– but he doubted he could get through the door in any case.  The nurse– _military medical training, trying not to become attached, wonders why I’m being treated at all_ – came back in and checked him over.

“I’ll need an anti-emetic or I’ll keep throwing up for quite some time, and last time I ended up causing complications.” Mycroft managed to get out before throwing up again.

The medic went and spoke to someone. Eventually the man who had purchased him came in with… _doctor, sadist, no… sexual sadist, not patient sadistic_ … his purchaser was looking disgusted and… faintly amused?– _not a general sadist but definitely enjoying my suffering.  Who was he? I don’t know him._

 “Is this typical?” the Doctor was curt and professional.

“Yes.  I ended up damaging my stomach and throat last time.” That had been rather horrible, in fact. 

The doctor asked him what would help, asked him about a different medication– _same family of drugs, very likely to help._ He got an injection in his IV and was finally able to rest without risk of aspiration.

They kept trying to wake him up.

“Anesthesia response.” Mycroft muttered.  Someone hit him and he woke up briefly from the adrenaline. It was the same man again.  Mycroft just looked at him tiredly. “My associates are dead, I’ve been dehydrated, had a concussion, and shot… and I’ve been throwing up continuously for over two hours–do you honestly think I care if you hit me?”  The surprised look on the man’s face was a bit amusing–Mycroft went back to sleep.

Before he’d completely come out of it they dragged him out of bed and put a bag over his head.  Mycroft counted steps and tried to listen… he was put in a plane–private jet– and buckled in with his hands behind his back. 

“Can you at least handcuff my hands in FRONT of me? It’s at least a six hour flight.”

“How the FUCK do you know how long a flight it is?” the same man who purchased him.

“It’s rather obvious.” Mycroft sighed.

There was silence as the plane took off, but once it was done with the immediate climb the man walked over and… handcuffed his hands in front of him. He took the bag off his head too. Mycroft felt a bit grateful, although he tried not to show it.

“Don’t know why I bothered with a hood–bloody annoying genius sorts.”  The man had a glass with ice… gin and tonic from the smell.  Mycroft looked at it rather wistfully.

He followed Mycroft’s gaze. “Yeah, sure… why not?” The man’s mouth twisted up in some approximation of a smile, “name your poison.”

“Scotch by preference, but a decent gin and tonic is acceptable, thank you, especially as any pain medication has worn off.” He ached rather awfully, and his head hurt, and the less said about the pain in his calf the better.

His captor came back with another gin and tonic. “When we land… I was going to sedate you again, but if you puke on my boss he’ll laugh, and then take the cost of the dry-cleaning out of your hide–literally– so can you cooperate?”

“Ah, so it’s your employer who is…” _it was his employer who had the dealings with me… he is taking it personally out of loyalty to his employer.  Hmmm… loyalty? Lovers? Lovers, definitely.  He did use the male pronoun… the man doesn’t seem to be gay…_ “I suppose you could be bisexual…”

The man choked on his gin and tonic and spent a bit dabbing at his tie.

“Ah, still recovering from everything–hadn’t realized I had said that out loud.” Mycroft sighed and sipped his gin and tonic, “as to the choice you mention, I suppose I shall behave. I see no reason to make it worse on myself.  I assume you have the customs officials paid off.”

The man just closed his eyes in a pained fashion and started playing with his phone and drinking a bit more rapidly. Eventually he muttered, “I’m not stupid.” More to himself than anything.

“No… I would estimate that by normal standards you are rather intelligent–not that this has anything to do with me–and you are clearly an expert marksman… Dishonorably discharged, likely for a number of reasons that would be overlooked if you hadn’t antagonized your commanding officer. Thus far the only thing that doesn’t make sense is who your employer and lover, is.  I have yet to figure that out.”

The man stared at him, looked slightly unnerved, and moved to a seat behind Mycroft.  He was considerate enough to get him a sandwich and water partway through the flight, but otherwise didn’t say another word and sat out of view.  Mycroft tried to rest, but his mind kept putting the puzzle together only to find that the pieces simply didn’t fit… somewhere he had made an incorrect assumption.

_Sigh._

…

They landed.  Mycroft waited to be re-secured, possibly hooded, and dragged off the plane, but for some reason they were… waiting?  He idly wondered what had gone wrong.  It could be something as simple as traffic, or it could be a failure in their planning… _hmmm._

His purchaser got off the plane and got back on.

“You’re getting drugged–something a lot lighter and it shouldn’t cause you the same problems– do you want it in another gin and tonic?”

Mycroft winced. He’d been hoping they wouldn’t think of it. “Certainly.”

The man handed him the glass and watched him carefully.  Mycroft drank it slowly. “I appreciate the courtesy, although it would be far more courteous if I had proper clothing.”

The man snorted, “Like I travel with a spare suit in your size? You’re lucky to have scrubs.”

“No, of course not–and you favor Italian designers in any event.”

He blinked a lot. “What’s wrong with Italian designers?”

“Hmm? Nothing, they suit you; they do not suit me.” the man was fit and trim and had the physique for them.  Mycroft tried not to wince at the image he must currently present.

“He’s right, you’re weirdly infuriating.”

“An odd phrasing, but the sentiment has been stated… previously…” his head spun a bit.

He talked to the man but it became increasingly difficult to _… ah, the drug of course._

Eventually he was hauled to his feet and a bag put over his head again and taken to a car.  Somewhere Mycroft lost time, or slept. He was taken into a building: _expansive house, with grounds, wealthy… not exactly remote, but no one close by…security, dogs… the scent of water nearby._

He was brought into a room… rather luxurious other than the ominous feel of a canvas tarp under his feet.

“You were right, sir, he IS weirdly infuriating.” Said his purchaser, sounding tired and a bit put upon. “Also oddly polite, if prone to knowing too much for no good reason at all.”

Mycroft cleared his throat “this is a great deal of trouble to go to, to get your hands on me… and its personal…” Mycroft heard a familiar chuckle, “But I must admit I haven’t been able to figure it all out…”

“Well it would be difficult,” Mycroft heard a voice that couldn’t POSSIBLY be speaking. “After all, I certainly never expected us to meet again...not ever, really, but especially not like this...”

 

His hood was pulled off and Mycroft stared in shock as Jim Moriarty sat smirking in a chair in front of him.

 

Unquestionably, unmistakably Jim Moriarty.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aw.. look, its a reunion... one Mycroft never expected to have... ever.  
> (slight content warning for threats)

_Jim Moriarty was alive and well and sitting in front of me and no wonder I couldn’t figure it out and why was the floor in front of my nose?_ Mycroft blinked in some confusion at a heavy canvas tarpaulin.

“Alright, Mikey, I gotta admit… fainting wasn’t one of the reactions I expected.”

The man– _Jim Moriarty’s lover?!–_ hauled him to his feet.

“The only thing I have had to eat in the last two to three days has been a sandwich and two gin and tonics, I was shot, had surgery and was drugged–  I believe I can be excused.”

Moriarty snickered. “I had forgotten how utterly adorably stiff backed you are, Mycroft…” there was that same flirtatious tone from interrogation that sent his people–and himself–half mad.

“I assume you plan to use me to get to Sherlock somehow...it won't work.”  _Especially since he very likely would be more delighted at you being alive than worried about me._

“If I wanted dear Sherlock you would certainly be lovely bait, Mycroft,” Moriarty nodded, “but we broke up, if you recall.”

“No, I can't say that I do...I thought you were dead...he thought you were dead…” Mycroft supposed he was fortunate that the man was holding him up, because he certainly couldn’t stand right now.

Moriarty just looked puzzled, “How else does one break up with Sherly? He can be remarkable determined.”

“As can you.” _unfortunately in both cases._

He clapped his hands. “But in any event we both know I had other reasons to die.”

Mycroft could think of any number of reasons for him to BE dead, but at the moment he wasn’t following Moriarty’s logic at all. _Oh yes, concussion._

Moriarty smiled darkly, “Did you think I didn't know about the assassins waiting to take me down?”

Mycroft closed his eyes slowly–he was still feeling quite dizzy, “but who would bother with you dead?" he said quietly.   _Of course, of course... I should have had my snipers shoot the damn body._

“Precisely.  Euros was very considerate, really: I agreed to leave her toys alone–and record a few things for her– and she arranged for me to very convincingly die.”

Mycroft sagged and would have collapsed if the man wasn’t holding him up. “I should never have introduced you.” _How much was my trying to be kind, and how much was her idea?  How did I ever think bringing Moriarty to her was a good idea?_

“Oh no...never.” Jim smiled and pulled out his knife. “Never, ever, ever...Truly Mycroft if my tastes ran to women....Or if her tastes ran to anyone at all...”

Mycroft could feel the man holding him up tensing, but he knew that if he turned to look at him he would probably pass out–again.

“But I digress. She did so like to keep her toys to herself.” Moriarty cocked his head to the side.

“She liked to break them,” Mycroft sighed. “Did she arrange to send me to you? To have everyone killed? She wasn’t responding…”

“I doubt it,” Jim considered and then walked over and before Mycroft had a chance to be alarmed, Jim  efficiently cut the scrubs off of him–his lover shifting his grip quickly; apparently cutting clothes off someone was something Jim did frequently enough for him to anticipate. “But I'm hardly one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mycroft.”

“I thought you just said I wasn't a gift.” Mycroft fought to keep his voice level...show nothing, even as his only covering lay in pieces around his feet.

“Ooooh Mycroft, trust me...this is a gift.”  He smiled and gently drew the flat of the blade across Mycroft’s cheek. Mycroft did his best to look unimpressed. “I always did wonder what you looked like out of your suits…” Jim said pleasantly, looking him up and down while Mycroft tried not to react.

“Sir…” the man holding him sighed.

“We'll have so much FUN don’t you think?” Moriarty chirped happily.

“Somehow I doubt it.” Mycroft kept his tone dry but he felt like... he swayed slightly in the man’s grip.

“Sebie?” Jim laughed, “Have him stripped, washed, and brought to my tent!”

 _I hadn’t expected that._ Mycroft curled his lip. “Rape? Rather pedestrian of you.” the tension in his purchaser– _Sebie? Odds calculated likely to be Sebastian_ – ratcheted up still more.

Jim sat back down and hugged his knee, “Ooh, I don't plan to rape you, Iceman...But I'm going to enjoy finding out if ice melts or shatters or goes all the way through.”  He waved cheerfully, “Toodles!”

From the tension in his hands Sebastian was unhappy as he took Mycroft out and half carried him into a rather luxurious bathroom.  He started to let go of him, clearly thought better of it–tile and an unsteady prisoner– and finally put Mycroft down on the toilet while he took off his own clothes.

It was… intimidating how many muscles, scars, and weapons that suit had been concealing. He had JM scarred very neatly into his hip…

“Do I get the impression you are unhappy with this?”  Mycroft asked, trying to feel out if he had any psychological leverage.

“YES, I’m unhappy with this,” he growled, “This is all YOUR fault, but instead of just having you shot stuffed and gift wrapped for him I had to go and bring you back alive.”

“I assure you I would be happier if you had, as you say, had me shot–the stuffed and mounted, or gift wrapped, being optional.”

It became obvious why Sebastian had stripped as he pulled Mycroft through a badly needed shower. 

He was then dragged, not to a dungeon, but to a plain white room with a bed–it was bright, far too bright. Sebastian dropped him onto the bed and did something that involved very loud clanking noises.  A cuff of some sort was attached to his ankle and his other restraints were removed.

“There’s a bottle of electrolytes right next to the bed.  You probably want to drink that.  There will be food fairly soon I expect.”

“Have you considered just shooting me now?” he asked hopefully–the man hadn’t seemed completely unreasonable.

“Sure I have; I consider shooting Jim often enough and I LIKE him, but I’m not going to spoil his fun–he doesn’t get enough of it.”  And he walked out.

Mycroft sat up slowly–the room still spun too much– and found the promised bottle of electrolyte solution.  After drinking it he looked around dubiously.

The room was brightly lit and very white.  The lights were high overhead and protected by the kind of steel caging you see in heavy duty work areas: there was no light switch. The windows had been covered over with painted drywall to the point that even Mycroft could only estimate where they had been.

He looked around again, the room had been re-done recently and quickly ...it still smelled of paint.

His leg was cuffed to a chain, in turn locked to the bed. The bed was new and had been bolted down.  While the chain was not unduly short, it would not allow him access to the far walls or the door…

Mycroft eventually found a portable toilet...he shuddered.

It seemed an odd cell, the bed was not uncomfortable, but there was nothing...

Mycroft paled.

_Nothing._

_Nothing at all._

A light that would likely never change, white walls, a bed, nothing to do...nothing to occupy his mind...

His mind would tear itself apart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: most of this chapter takes place in Mycroft's mind... which is exceedingly hostile, full of self doubt, self hatred, and food disorders as well as non graphic references to torture, rape and drug overdoses.  
> Takes place over several days, but you have an unreliable narrator.

Food did indeed arrive soon; a tray containing a bowl of oatmeal, a protein shake, and a few bottles of water was pushed through the small access hatch in the door.  Mycroft ate it–he had to keep up his strength to have any hope of escape.  It was insanely bland, yet another assault on his senses to go along with the light and the plain white room.

No one came in.  Mycroft eventually had to use the portable toilet.  He tried to sleep, and eventually found that by lying face down and using his arm as a shield he could do so.

They had tried keeping lights on all the time when Moriarty had been in interrogation, and they had tried having the lights off as well.  It hadn’t seemed to bother him. Mycroft, not for the first time, envied his composure: he wondered if Moriarty knew how bad this would be for him?

Mycroft prepared his mind for a siege as he went into his mind palace.

~

Sherlock was playing pirates with his friend–poor slow creature that he was– and Mycroft was grateful because it meant he had time to study.  He’d be going away to school soon and Sherlock would be alone…

Dealing with such ordinary minds was tedious, but… Sherlock seemed able to make a great deal of his own entertainment, and Viktor was an audience.

… Blond, racing about, taking on the world together… looking up to and admiring Sherlock and not avoiding him because he was strange…

How had he missed the comparisons to Watson? No wonder she had tried to destroy him too.

The idyll of childhood changed to an inconsolable Sherlock, and then losing his home… he was so withdrawn, how had I missed how shattered he was?

Caring is not an advantage, never that.

Failed… always… failed…

Trying to do the right thing, the best he could, and it was a disaster.

~

Every six hours a bowl of oatmeal, a protein shake, and a few bottles of water was pushed through the small access hatch in the door.  Mycroft’s relentless internal clock told him that they were not changing the schedule or playing with his time cues, although how long his internal clock would… remain consistent he couldn’t say.

~

He managed to spend nearly an entire six hours wandering the hallways and library of Oxford.  He’d been so lonely… but here at least there was knowledge, and there were connections to be made…

He had been so lonely.

~

He couldn’t eat the oatmeal.  If he never saw oatmeal again in his life he would be happy of it.

~

He was back in the library at Oxford when Uncle Rudy intruded. He’d taken her away, and held out an entrée into intelligence work to Mycroft…

I’d been such a fool, Mycroft thought as he watched Rudy Vernet play the younger Mycroft.  Constantly keeping him uncertain, struggling, isolated…

Sherlock showing up with his androgynous looks and drawing the wrong kind of attention and Mycroft slowly realizing something was wrong.

Drugs.  He might have caught it earlier but he was dealing with Rudy, and his work was so important, and Euros… and Sherlock slipped through his fingers.

~

The protein shakes tasted like chalk.

~

Sherlock putting the pistol to himself, and it was all his fault–she was his responsibility and she had killed them all.  How long had she been out? How much damage had she done?

Watson drowning in the same grave with Trevor… Sherlock going blank and absent except when he looked lost or angry.

Watson hating him, keeping Sherlock  from seeing him again–I can’t blame him I failed.

I’m always failing.

~

He threw up when he tried to drink the protein shakes; probably drugged.  He didn’t try them again.

~

Moriarty lying dead on the roof, and no way to stop the failsafes except for Sherlock to die– _but that wasn’t true, he’d lived_ – and he’d taken such risks and he’d been so badly hurt, and I hadn’t realized how badly things were going with Watson or how much it would hurt Sherlock.

He’d done so much work for MI6 as well…

And it hurt him.   it hurt him

I hurt him.

~

The electrolytes were barely tolerable.

~

He was fat. His parents scolded him for his weight. Sherlock endlessly picking at his one weakness.  Sherlock being so thing, always so thin–everyone wanted to be thin.  Uncle Rudy telling him he wouldn’t make it in the job if he couldn’t discipline himself.  Euros with her dead eyes and her poisonous words and he came back from a visit with her and ate an entire chocolate cake and had to purge.

~

The electrolytes tasted oily and he threw up.

~

Sherlock lying in a pool of vomit in a place that made Mycroft ill.  Dragging him to the hospital and to rehab and having to be responsible for it all because his parents said it was his responsibility.

Uncle Rudy telling him to let it go, you can’t save an addict.

Sherlock relapsing after the mission, dying in a hospital, dying in an airplane, dying in a back alley flop house.

Failed.  Nothing I can do, he’s going to die and you can’t save him.

~

The water tasted like cigarette ashes and hospitals.

~

He’d been sent on a field assignment.  It should have been simple, it was a contact that needed someone who could do ciphers on site, and spoke the language well enough.  Simple.

They’d been captured and tortured.  Mycroft could still feel the electricity, the drugs blurring his mind and digging the incident so deeply into his mind palace he’d never been able to erase it or lock it away, the hands on him, the screaming.

The smell of people dying…

~

He distantly heard something like a tray moving across the floor.

~

He’d missed so much. The ambassador was being directed by someone he trusted and because of that the poison got into the secure meeting.  Mycroft stood there and watched on the cameras as his lover died in agony with his spine cracking from the seizures. 

Mycroft wanted to die, then, and no one even knew… he still visited the grave when he could. He wasn’t able to go to the funeral–security after all– and if he was the one that found out how it had happened? So what: all lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage.

Uncle Rudy dragged him over the coals for every missed clue… he deserved it.  He may as well have killed them himself…

_“He shouldn’t be in this condition… not for weeks yet.”_

Stupid, failure…

~

They were running an IV and trying to figure out what Sherlock had taken.  The note was almost unreadable because the ink had smeared and they didn’t know, they weren’t sure… brain damage was a real possibility and he could almost feel the icy cold of the liquid in his veins.

_“He’s badly dehydrated; we had to try several times–”_

~

 _“What are you playing at Mycroft_ …?”  _Jim’s voice was angry and puzzled… but that was wrong? He rarely sounded angry._

Jim was smiling across the interrogation table with blood in his teeth, “well Iceman? Finally decided to give me what I want?”

“yes.” Mycroft could feel his jaw muscles locked, “I have, in fact, been ordered to.”

“Awww…well it only counts as a sin if you do it voluntarily, you know…”

 _Hands on him, touching him…_ no one ever touched him kindly, ever.

They were letting him go; they had to let him go.

Moriarty sliding on his sunglasses that almost covered the bruises and saying calmly, “It’s been fun, but you’re an awful tease, Mycroft.”  And sliding his eyes sideways and winking behind dark glasses.

~

_“What happened to you I wonder?” Jim’s voice the Irish lilt more pronounced_

_“This…this is a waste…” Sebastian._

Euros wanted him, wanted Moriarty, she must have realized, must have seen his interest…  a present… she wanted what she’d always wanted, anything that belonged to Sherlock, or to Mycroft, that might take their attention from her.

Jim holding his arms out in the office, “How do you want me?”

And Mycroft had suddenly realized he did want him. He spent days afterwards purging his mind of that interest–undoubtedly planted by Euros– and purging his body.

Discipline.

He could overcome it all with discipline.

He failed, again.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of history... and smut  
> (the smut is after ---the present---)  
> posting early for mickie, and sadly still un beta'd

Sebastian came back in after dealing with Mycroft, still a bit damp from a shower.

“You give me the best presents…” Jim sighed.

Sebastian came up and wrapped his arms around him, “I should have just shot him after getting the video, but…”

“You owe me.” Jim smirked up at him, “besides it was awesome!”

“yeah.  He asked me if I considered shooting him.”

Jim looked delighted. “what did you say?”

“That of course I did, I considered shooting you often enough…”

Jim laughed, “well, if he didn’t know you were my lover already…”

“He had that on the plane.”

“I know, I reviewed the recordings.” Jim grabbed him by his tie and pulled him down, “I adore you, you bastard.”

Jim kissed him and felt the man respond–he pulled back. “The only one I’ll have stripped and in my tent is you, Tiger, but that was a hell of an inspirational present.”

Sebastian smirked back at him from his knees. “Stop teasing.”

Jim laughed and let go of his tie.

“Why did you tell him that the bitch came up with a way for you to fake your death?” Sebastian asked him, running a hand up his leg.

“Honestly? I expected him to see through it…” Jim frowned “he did have a concussion, but it was treated…”

“Well, judging from the fact that he passed out at your feet…”

Jim smiled beatifically, “that was… glorious.  That was worth a good bit of the effort to get him right there…” Jim waved him to his feet.

“So how long is he going to be…?” Sebastian considered, “marinating?”

“Oh, I expect it will be at least two weeks before he cracks,” Jim looked thoughtful, “might be more.  The attendants will be keeping an eye on him while we finish up business.”

Sebastian hesitated, “What do you plan on doing with him long term?”

“I honestly have no idea; after all, I didn’t expect to get him.”  He looked intrigued up at the sniper, “why, did you have any ideas?”

“I have a ton of ideas, but none of them are safe.”

“You despise safe.” Jim laughed.

Sebastian smiled fondly at him. “true…”

\--- Years Ago ---

Jim Moriarty was making final plans for his date on the roof… it had to be perfect, everything had to be perfect.  Sherlock would fall and the curtain would come down, and he would exit the stage triumphant…

And even if Sherlock managed to survive, well… between the sister’s machinations and his own long term plans?  He would never, EVER, be forgotten…

“Sir?”  a voice snapped him back to the room, he turned to look in some confusion–everyone else was gone... Moran stepped out of the shadows near the door.

“I gave you your orders, Moran.”

“Yes, sir. I have some issues with them.”

Jim sat there with his mouth open for a moment, “you… have… you have some ISSUES with my orders?”

“Yes, sir.” Moran said calmly, standing at ease by the door.

Moran had been his second in command, his best sniper, and his most dependable man since… well since he ordered him to get rid of his predecessor, actually.  The closest he had ever come to questioning an order was to point out a better vantage for sniping, so this was… distinctly odd.

“Alright, Moran, what issues?”

“The one where you don’t live to make it off the roof.”

“I knew you were smart…” Jim grinned at him, “Don’t worry, your final paycheck, bonuses and a few last orders will transfer automatically–”

“No, sir, they won’t.”

“…the hell?” Jim was staring at him in bafflement. “Okay, congratulations, you lost me.  First time for everything: what are you talking about?”

“If you die on that roof, sir,” Sebastian said very calmly, “I’m going to stop Holmes from jumping, take out every sniper you have–they report to me anyway– and turn over all your codes to Mycroft Holmes.”

Jim stared at him and then picked up his tea dubiously, “I don’t feel drugged?”

“I considered it, but your allergies make that difficult.”

“Why would you do that Moran, and if you did want to do that why the hell would you tell me?” _This made no sense at all._

“If someone else killed you I could kill them and I would, out of revenge… so if you kill yourself, sir… then I am going to destroy your legacy, and everything that you built… it would practically be my duty.”

Jim had never had such a complete feeling of bafflement in his life. “You… would revenge yourself… on ME… for killing me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That… makes no sense at all!”

Moran just shrugged, “Yeah, well, I love you and that makes no sense either.”

“You love me?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re a sociopath!” Jim stared at him in appalled fascination.

“So they tell me,” he was smiling slightly.

“You… why the FUCK would you care if I die?  You’ll inherit the other snipers and a good number of job prospects…”

“No I won’t, because you’re either going to kill me before I leave the room, or we’re going to work out how to fake your death and walk away.”

“Why would I want to do that? It’s boring! I’ve done it all! There is LITERALLY NOTHING LEFT!”

“You can beat the smartest Holmes.”

“Mycroft? I beat–”

Sebastian shook his head, “her. The one you went to see.  The one you talked to at that jail and  you’ve met a few times in London…”

“beat…she gave me the clues I needed to burn Sherlock to the ground…”

“No she didn’t.” Sebastian lit up a cigarette, “she gave you what you needed to play this part of the game, but judging from the recordings you made?  She’s planning a lot more… and once your part is over then… you’re in the way.”

“I… well yes?” Jim shook his head, “What else is there worth doing?”

“Find a way to walk off that roof alive, and leave the  stage, just like you said,” sebastian nodded. “we set up somewhere else, start something new… if you still can’t stand it, then you shoot me and kill yourself and no one knows you didn’t die on that roof, right?”

“BUT I WANT TO!”

“And I don’t want you to.” Sebastian said standing there like he had some business.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Moran!”

“Your choice, boss: kill me right now–you may still have time to settle the personnel and all before the roof,  or do something none of them can expect…”  he ground out the cigarette.

Jim stared at him.  He was bloody well serious.  If Jim didn’t kill him he would ruin everything, EVERYTHING… except… could I? Could I fake them ALL out?

“Why didn’t I think outsmarting her would be worth it…?” Jim puzzled slowly.

“No idea.”

“But it’s so… tiring.  Just… continuing…”

Sebastian walked over and slowly dropped to one knee. “When the situation is unwinnable, do you know what you do?”

Jim looked dubiously at the man–all lethal edges and cold blooded killer, elegant in his own way… “What?”

“You cheat.” Sebastian took Jim’s hand and slowly put it over his heart. “No one in this game is fighting fair…so why let any of them have what they want? They want you dead…”

“And what do you want, Moran?”

“You.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Couldn’t think of a better way to go.”

\---The Present---

Jim had Sebastian blindfolded and kneeling. The only thing keeping him there was that he wanted to be.

Jim smirked and ran his fingers down Sebastian’s back. “What will it be, Tiger. Hard or soft?  You’ve definitely earned a reward.”

“Both.”

“greedy.”

“Always with you.”

Jim stepped back and hit him with his belt–Spanish leather and supple as a whip.  Sebastian inhaled and kept his hands on the floor. Jim walked around him, considering and hit him again, crossing the first line.  He stepped up quietly behind him and took hold of his hair, pulling his head up as far as he could without lifting his hands from the floor.

“When I let go, I expect your head on the floor and your ass in the air, Sebastian.”

“Yes, sir…”

Jim let go and got out the condoms and the lube, “You better have been wearing your plug, Tiger,”

“Of course,” Sebastian’s voice was already a bit breathier; Jim could hear the excitement–Sebastian was remarkably easy to please.

Jim pulled the plug out partway and shoved it back in: Sebastian groaned.  He pulled it free and traced around his hole with one finger, with just a tiny bit of lube…”You wanted it hard, Basher?”  He smiled, “Anything for my Tiger…” and he pushed into him with just that bit of lube and the condom.

He wouldn’t be hurt, or rather he wouldn’t be damaged, not with him stretched by the plug, but oh he would FEEL that…

Jim kept himself still for a moment fully sheathed in Sebastian and stroked a hand down his back over the belt marks. “beautiful…” and then he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back into him.

Sebastian groaned as Jim set up a brutal pace, riding him hard and  somehow managing to hit just the right spot over, and over.  He held off as long as he could, but eventually he came… the boss just laughed and kept going.

“ah!  God…” it was too much, post orgasm, and Jim was fucking him hard and fast: he bit his lip.

“Need a hand, Tiger?” Jim reached around and  started working him to hardness again.  Jim came suddenly with  a shudder and… stopped.  Sebastian couldn’t help it he moaned.

Jim pulled out and slid the plug into him. “You already made a mess, Tiger, but we’re on the hard wood so it should clean up…”

“bastard.” Sebastian was breathing hard.

“Of course… are you still wanting some, Tiger?” Jim’s voice was mocking.

“Yes… sir…” Sebastian was gritting his teeth against the buzzing in his nerves.

Jim laughed and wrapped the belt around his throat like a leash, “come along Tiger.”

He crawled on hands and knees, feeling the plug, feeling the sensation of Jim thrusting into him, feeling  the tenseness in his balls and cock as he desperately needed to come.  Jim could keep him like this all night, he knew.

He was guided up onto the bed and then Jim ordered his hands behind his back and cuffed them.

He felt Jim get onto the bed with him?

Jim’s body was suddenly right up against his knee and his hand was on the bed. “So Tiger, without picking those cuffs, and without removing the blindfold… you can have me any way you can manage.”

There was a God…

And his name was Moriarty.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sebastian handle some business and talk.  
> CW: blood and violence, referenced torture, etc (not graphically depicted, but definitely there)

Jim left a fucked out Sebastian on the bed in the morning; let him sleep in, he’d earned it. Mind you he’d have to get the handcuffs off to get out of bed, but that shouldn’t take too long.

Sebastian brought him his coffee while he was finishing up with one of today’s projects.

“You, Sir, are a bastard.”

“You were getting soft, Moran,” Jim smirked over his keyboard. “Besides if you ever did get captured they won’t be so easy on you.”

“Cement in the handcuff lock was still dirty pool.”

“Maybe I wanted you to still be on the bed, desperate and waiting when I finished up?”

Sebastian just laughed and leaned over his shoulder. “How’s the currency business going?”

“Wonderfully… I’ve made a few million and incidentally bankrupted a few people I don’t like!”

Sebastian kissed him on the head, “My evil genius, providing for us all.  I’ll tell the chef to get food started.”

When Jim finally came in for lunch–or whatever it was– Sebastian asked, “How’s your new toy doing?”

Jim smiled, “They are quite certain he’s dead, but of course due diligence, you know, so they’re still looking.” he hesitated, “they were trying to get him killed, Tiger.”

“…What?”

“Some of his colleagues.  I… the traces indicated so I looked into it, and…” Jim frowned, “They sent him in at risk deliberately, and I suspect one of them tipped off the terrorist group.  At best it was a ‘maybe he’ll get killed’ and at worst it was an assassination where they lose the target in the body count.”

Sebastian considered that. “You think she finally got tired of him?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just cut throat politics… I couldn’t get all the details but… apparently things blew up badly with her, and Mycroft lost a lot of position.”

“Well, I expect he’d know,” Sebastian chewed thoughtfully, “Ask him once you’ve softened him up a bit?  Mind you judging from how chatty he was on the plane you might just be able to ask him any time.”

“Something isn’t right with this.” Jim sighed. “They wanted him DEAD, and while a few of them seem to be upset about it, they’re already trying to figure out how to rope Sherlock into taking his place.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “They’re masochists? Sherlock isn’t suited for it.”

“I know…” Jim looked thoughtful and Sebastian held a fork of food to his lips.

“Eat.  If you don’t eat I’ll tie you to the bed and hand feed you–again–and you did say you have some time critical business…”

“Promises, promises,” Jim smirked. “Sadly I do have some time critical jobs…tie me to the bed later?  I want steak.” Jim took his plate and walked off.

…

Sebastian did tie him to the bed later.  Jim grumbled that it was fish and not steak, but Sebastian just laughed. “Steak was already on the menu for tomorrow.”

After feeding him dessert Sebastian proceeded to tease his lover into screaming threats–not difficult– and then finally into the writhing mess that he needed. Jim had a tough time relaxing and this was one of the best ways to ensure that he did– _of course it was fun for me too._

“… Please, Sebie…” Jim was covered in sweat and writhing.

“Payback, Jim.” Sebastian laughed and went back to work.  Jim always reacted beautifully to sensory deprivation, restraints and a tongue, but this time Sebastian had pulled out the vibrator as well.  He edged him as long as he could manage before letting him come, and moments after that Jim was asleep.

Sebastian carefully untied him and curled up in bed with him.  Jim hadn’t slept much–new cases and excitement tended to do that anyway and Mycroft, well…Mycroft –and lack of sleep was the primary trigger for stabbed underlings. They didn’t have many employees here, and they couldn’t afford to lose any.

 _Maybe I should take Jim to one of the other locations and let him threaten a few?_   Sebastian considered carefully and thought that Johannes’ operation had been getting sloppy…

He went to sleep.

…

“I still want steak.”

Sebastian cracked open an eye to find a cup of coffee being held out at him:  he reluctantly sat up. “Steak is tonight… unless…”

“Unless what?” Jim looked suspiciously at him, “You look plottish.”

“Johannes and his crew… their efficiency has been down and, honestly I worry a bit that they may be forgetting their manners…”

Jim smirked, “Want to remind them?”

Sebastian pulled him in and kissed him gently on the neck, “how about we both remind them… if we find anything too problematic we can work a few over… but I bet you need to stab and threaten a few.”

Jim settled happily into his arms, “You’re wonderful, Tiger.”

“Do we need to do anything special about Holmes?”

“Nah… I’ll just remind the minions of the rules and we can go… I’ll keep digging into what’s going on in London while we’re out.”

…

Johannes hadn’t merely forgotten his manners; he’d been trying to have a bit of business on the side.  Perfectly acceptable, of course, if he got permission and paid  Jim his percentage, but… as it was they had to make an example of the situation.  That and there were… added issues.

The man that was ostensibly getting awarded his territory got brought in to watch–and help.  That had been Sebastian’s addition to the business: always make sure they know what happens when you screw up.  Make sure they knew viscerally, down to what it felt like to hold the knife doing it, what happens when someone screws up. After all, as Sebastian had pointed out, he had taken out his predecessor.

Jim was playing terrified accounting minion, at least in public, while Sebastian walked the men through it all.  They’d worked together, a lot of them, so most of them were throwing up before Sebastian let them stop; even the senior man, Miguel, lost his lunch after Sebastian taught him how to remove a few parts while leaving a man alive.

Some people were just so squeamish.

Jim kept working on his computer, letting Sebastian take his time.  None of the surviving men would ever dare cross the boss again, and if anyone tried to tell them to? Well… they’d know where to send the information.

They took Johannes off to a private room elsewhere and set him up. He’d stopped begging–as much as he could through the gag– after the fourth, or was it the fifth, of his lieutenants got pulled apart in front of him. Jim smiled at him occasionally; always from the other side of one of the men, and always when no one was looking.

After Jim’s men set fire to the building–and the former territory owners–Miguel reported to Sebastian. His men outside, of course.

“You wanted to see me?”  Jim had to be impressed, his voice barely shook.

Sebastian was smiling. “This man ruled the territory; you get to see what happens to him–and get introduced to my boss.”

“It… would be an honor…”

“It always is,” Jim said.  The terrified minion persona was all gone as he walked up and cut the gag out of Johannes mouth, “All you had to do, darling, was ask permission and give me my percentage…”

Miguel’s eyes went wide in shock as Johannes started begging, “Sir, I was foolish, please… I’ve done good work, just let–”

“shhhh.” Jim patted his cheek gently.  He turned to Miguel, “I wasn’t certain until I watched you, Miguel, but you were the one who made it obvious Johannes was cheating on me.”

He hesitated but eventually admitted it, “yes…I…wanted the territory.”

“hmmm.” Jim smiled, “You’ve been working your way up… and Johannes never suspected…” he signaled Sebastian to be ready.

He gulped, “Ambition is common enough.”

“So are spies.”  Jim said pleasantly and Sebastian shot him through the knee.

He scrambled for his gun but Sebastian had been waiting… he had his hands in overhead chains and his good leg locked down quickly enough.

“Miguel here has been working for the government, Johannes… and you… you never noticed.”

Johannes simply kept his head down, “Another failing, I–”

“He didn’t expect us so soon, you see… planning to lure us into a government trap. Now… you HAVE been doing good work…” He could see the dim flicker of hope in his eyes, “So… Sebastian will unlock you, and assist you, and you… are going to question Miguel about his contacts and activities.” Jim smiled, “we have time.”

Johannes knew perfectly well that everything Sebastian was showing him could have happened to him, not Miguel.  By the time they were done that day, Johannes was a wreck and Miguel was a bloody mess, but they had some information.

“Go home to your wife, and be grateful you still have one.” Jim said quietly as Johannes knelt at his feet. “If you’ve learned your lesson you can go back to business; you have a lot of work to do catching up on the income after this, though.”

He kissed Jim’s hand very sincerely, “Th-thank you, sir.”

Jim waited until he was gone and looked at Sebastian, spattered with blood and still holding a knife. “Tiger…?”

“Yes sir?”

“Do you have any idea how hard I am right now?”

Sebastian smiled, “as hard as I am?”

They cleaned up a little and made love on the floor matt, out of the way of the blood.  Miguel occasionally regained enough wits to focus on them, but neither of them cared. It wasn’t anything fancy, they were both too worked up for that, but there was always a rush in  sex after  so much death and torture–a primal feeling of having survived.

In the morning Miguel was still alive, much to both of their surprise. Jim gave him enough drugs and threw enough cold water on him to get his attention. “Now Miguel, all of that? That was for show, and for fun… if I can’t get the information I want from you here? Well… I have facilities…you’ll last longer.”

He broke, telling them everything–they usually did: enough torture to make it seem like the worst had happened and then a threat of something different and worse?

Not that Jim needed it–breaking his cell phone and computer security had given him enough, but they got a few more tidbits before they cut his throat.

Sebastian–always polite, always  sharp as a knife blade even in casual wear– gave directions to the men to prepare for any government people sniffing around after him, and Jim set up some careful targeting on a few of Miguel's employers–placing the blame squarely on the competition, of course.

When all was said and done they went to a resort hotel they both loved to clean up and relax before heading home.

“Do you want to take a knife to Mycroft?” Sebastian asked him quietly while they were sitting in the private pool.

“Sometimes… sometimes I want to skin him and make him into one of his own vests,” Jim said dreamily, “but…”

“But?”

“It… would be a bit of a waste, don’t you think?” Jim looked thoughtfully over at Sebastian. “There are so few of us…”

“I… found him a bit attractive.” Sebastian admitted. “It was the combination of brains and snark and… well… he’s more like you than most people.”

Jim pulled himself into Sebastian’s lap, “You want to try to keep him?”

“I’m happy with you, Jim,” Sebastian said very sincerely, “but… if we could?”

Jim sighed, “I wanted Sherlock you know.”

“I remember.”

Jim smirked, “Mycroft is smarter, though,”

“It will change how MUCH payback you get out of him if you want to keep him…”

“Maybe, maybe not… I don’t know.  I kind of want to find out what he thought was going on.” Jim looked off distantly for a moment before he started nibbling on Sebastian’s neck. “How much was her… how much was him…”

Sebastian started thinking pleasant thoughts about ropes and knives. “Well… either we’ll have someone to play with… or someone to ‘play with’, right?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion on attractiveness, and Jim and Serbastian find out things are not as they expect with Mycroft  
> (Note: compare to Mycroft's limited interaction with the outside world while in his mind palace)
> 
> 1\. there are non con or at ;east extreme dub con warnings throughout  
> 2\. hubby is still too ill to proof read

Jim was more and more concerned about the political situation in England.  On the way back home he was tapping his fingers in the staccato pattern that Sebastian knew meant he was thinking deeply.

“Sebie? We may need to drag Mycroft out early… This looks like a serious power play behind the scenes and that level of mayhem could destabilize quite a bit. Mycroft should at least know more about the current situation.”

“Sure: I’ll get him once we unpack and drag him through a shower again.”

“Sebastian?” Jim’s voice was thoughtful and had that soft hesitation that Sebastian had learned  to be careful with.

Sebastian cocked his head, “Yes?”

“IS Mycroft attractive? Physically?”

Sebastian blinked a lot– _not the question he’d expected._ “Depends on your tastes?  Uh… why?”

“Just wondered.  People were pretty public that they thought Sherly was attractive.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Sebastian… I couldn’t care less what any of them LOOK like, except that it’s useful to play against other people.”

Sebastian considered that. “Well… hmmm… I would say that Sherlock is more… conventionally pretty.  I mean if you were going to sell either of them as pretty things, Sherlock would fetch a lot more than what Mycroft would… but… that dignity? Mycroft has that in spades, and that’s attractive.  Plus he dresses well, not that that matters naked.”

Sebastian sat back and contemplated, the boss never did have a normal perspective on anything–acting as a translator was always part of the job. So he continued: “Physically? Well he has some old scars–I’m guessing you noticed.”

“Oh yes, I figured I’d find out about them once we had him talking.”

“I’m guessing he was worked over when he was a lot younger–the scars looked old. For some people that’s a turn off–not to people like me, though.” Sebastian considered. “Some people adore fair skin and a hint of freckles, some don’t.  He’s tall, and more muscled than I would expect for behind a desk.  His eyes are pretty–the Holmes family sure has that–but his mouth is a bit thinner than Sherlock’s and his nose isn’t classical, much too thin. So physically? He’s attractive but not… not someone to turn heads.  Unless that was your type.”

“Hmm. That makes sense. The people who don’t know who he is, don’t know how important he is, don’t look at him that way.” Jim grinned, “But power is one hell of an aphrodisiac.”

“True.”

Sebastian decided to take advantage of the mood. “I never asked…”

Jim waved a hand, “Go ahead…”

“What do you find attractive?”

“Intelligence, loyalty, excitement, risk…”

Sebastian blinked a few times–that made sense– “Nothing physical?”

“No, not really.” Jim shrugged, “If anything the… the way someone moves?  I like watching you move–deadly and smooth.” Jim smiled at him, “I admire a good sense of style?”

“Huh.” Sebastian shrugged, “Ok.”

“You? I never asked.”

“Err… well, after you? No one else really measured up… but before?  I preferred girls, but only slightly…”

“I knew that,” Jim looked him over, “you asked me about physical features–what do you like?” Sebastian flushed and Jim pounced on it, “Fess up, Tiger!”

“Well, before you? I usually preferred tall, fair skin, freckles are nice but not required… red hair by preference…” Sebastian was looking anywhere but at Jim, “A good ass–legs are nice, I mean I appreciate them but…”

Jim started snickering, “Well my ass is fantastic.”

Sebastian grinned, “Yes, yes it is.  I’ve since developed a fondness for deep dark eyes, too.”

“You know you’re describing Mycroft.”

“Or Sherlock–minus the freckles and red hair.”  Sebastian shrugged, since Jim obviously wasn’t upset, “They both match my type–in a guy, anyway. But as you said, sir, there’s a lot more interest in… well… a person. In my case? You.”

They didn’t talk much the rest of the way home.  They had just unloaded the luggage when one of the minions–one of the ones set to watch Mycroft– came up.

“Sir?”  He was fidgeting.

Jim’s eyes narrowed, “If something is that wrong why wasn’t I called?”

“We weren’t certain anything WAS that wrong, sir, until today… and you were already coming home…”

Jim turned and walked off toward the observation room, “Well talk fast!”

“He… he stopped eating fairly soon.  He stopped drinking the protein shakes after he threw one up, and then he stopped drinking.  He hasn’t had anything, even water, today.”

“A hunger strike? Suicide?”

“We… don’t know sir.  He started sleeping more, and he looked… blank, even when he was eating… he hasn’t gotten off the bed since yesterday, but he… he acts like he’s having nightmares?”

“He should have been to medical then!” Jim snarled as he walked into the room full of screens and recordings.

One of the other underlings jumped as if he was shocked, “We were… debating what to do, sir, but since you were coming back today…”

Jim frowned at the screen and then glanced at Sebastian. “Does that look like a nightmare to you?”

Mycroft was lying on the bed, head jerking slightly every now and then, mouth moving…

Jim turned the microphone to full sensitivity.

“No…no, not him…” quiet as a whisper, and then, “I should have seen it…”

“PTSD?” Sebastian frowned.

Jim stormed out, “Get medical set up, NOW!” people scrambled in every direction.  Jim stormed into the room and then slowed as he approached the bed–Mycroft didn’t react at all.

 Jim looked back at Sebastian in confusion. “He shouldn’t be in this condition… not for weeks yet.”

Mycroft muttered, “Stupid… failure…” and went still.

Sebastian looked darkly at the underling in the room, “He dies? You all die. Start testing every scrap of food for drugs or poison and get him to medical.”

Sebastian watched as they started the IV, figuring dehydration was the most immediate concern. 

When Jim stalked in the medic stammered, “He’s badly dehydrated; we had to try several times–”

“How is he?” Jim’s voice was all lethal flatness.

“Other than dehydration he seems perfectly healthy, but… he hasn’t reacted correctly to stimulus.”  The medic drew a tool across the bottom of Mycroft’s foot–no reaction.

Jim and Sebastian exchanged glances; that was very bad.

“A coma?” Sebastian puzzled, “no... He was speaking…”

Jim leaned over the man. “What are you playing at Mycroft…?” 

Mycroft whimpered.  After a moment he whispered, “I have, in fact, been ordered to…”

Jim drew back in shock.  Sebastian watched curiously as Jim hesitantly leaned down again and took Mycroft’s face in his hands. Mycroft mumbled something that sounded like “touch.”

 “He’s in his mind, Sebie…”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“He escaped into his mind palace, like Watson wrote about Sherlock?  But something must have gone wrong…”

The medic looked at the two of them, “I could try to bring him back to consciousness with–”

“No. supportive measures only,” Jim said firmly. “I won’t risk damaging that mind with drugs.”

Sebastian jerked his head toward the door and the medic left.

“What happened to you I wonder?” Jim asked, stroking his hands over Mycroft, drawing a finger over a scar that had always been hidden under his suits.

“This…this is a waste…” Sebastian frowned, “Are we going to be able to bring him out of it?”

“Oh yes.” Jim nodded.  He leaned forward and murmured, “Your sister, Mycroft…”

“…Euros…”  Mycroft mumbled.

“What does Euros want, Mycroft…?” Jim stroked down Mycroft’s arms.

 Sebastian stared in awe as Mycroft’s voice faded in and out and he answered: “… she wanted…anything precious…anything…might take their attention...”

Jim smiled and leaned down into his ear, “I was a present, Mycroft, you gift wrapped me and gave me to her…”

“Wanted him…”

Jim looked up at Sebastian with a smirk and a look that said victory.  Sebastian smiled and drew a hand down Mycroft’s chest, stopping just past his waist. Jim slid a hand over to touch fingers, both their hands spread over Mycroft’s abdomen.

“Did you want to keep me, Mycroft?” Jim all but purred into his ear, “Have me over your desk, maybe?”

Mycroft started jerking his head again, twitching all over but apparently unable to move or wake up. “Euros… her idea… must be… ”

Sebastian looked over at Jim and smiled, “well, sir, he has taste…”

“Whatever he was trying to do,” Jim  said thoughtfully, going back to stroking Mycroft’s arm, while his other hand rested near his groin, “I dare say that his ‘mind palace’ must be a rather terrifying place right now…”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “You think? The question is how to bring him out of it.”

“He responds to my voice, somewhat, and to touch?” Jim drew a single finger down to the curly red hair at the base of Mycroft’s penis and watched it twitch. “Once he’s rehydrated, we’ll bring him to a more comfortable bed and…well, focus his attention on his body.”

“Sounds like fun…” Sebastian traced a hand across the long faint scar on Mycroft’s leg. “What condition do you think he’ll be in when he wakes up?”

“Now that… is a good question.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "and then he woke up"
> 
> TW for non con touching and more, past trauma, psychopaths in love, etc

Sebastian oversaw Mycroft getting a light dose of the tranquilizer he’d gotten to bring him from the airport, and then fed and cleaned up–inside and out–once he was actually asleep.  Jim dealt with the more pressing business issues, and doing more research on the situation in London.  Once everything was ready they moved Mycroft to the main bedroom–they already had waterproofing and blood proofing on the bed, after all.

Jim pointed to the restraints he’d laid out on the bed, “Nothing but the best, right?”  Jim laughed and it was all Sebastian could do not to rip his clothes off and throw him on the bed before they got around to Mycroft.

“You got new restraints?” Sebastian glanced at Mycroft on the gurney. “Shouldn’t we test them out first? Personally?”

“Awww… is my Tiger jealous?”

“Maybe.” He smirked. “I remember how hung up you were on Sherlock… you do know you don’t get rid of me except by putting me down.”

Jim’s smile vanished.  He walked up to Sebastian and very gently put a hand on his cheek, “I am never getting rid of you, Sebastian.”

It felt like his heart had stopped–Jim was so rarely quietly sincere.

“If… If you think he’s competition, Tiger… we shoot him now.”

Sebastian pulled Jim in and nuzzled his hair, “No, no not really. I… look, I think he’s interesting but he’s not competition for you, either–I just…” he pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “You’re a lot of evil genius for just one guy to handle, you know?  Having someone else to play with might help settle some of that extra energy.”  He smiled and stroked Jim’s cheek, “But I can’t help but be a little insecure, even now–you always were interested in them.”

Jim smiled briefly and then shoved him back, “Then get him in the gear, Sebie–the man does carry a sword umbrella normally, and as you said he has some muscle, I have to assume he’s not physically harmless.”

~

Mycroft drifted up to wakefulness.  _I’ve been drugged.  Who drugged me? where am I?_   Flickers of things, places, people…

 _Hospital?_   Mycroft was in the hospital after they recovered him from field work… he hurt; he hurt so many places…

Jim looked over from his phone when Mycroft whimpered and frowned. “Ah… he’s remembering pain?”

Sebastian put down his book and rolled over. He reached out to touch Mycroft’s arm and startled when the man flinched away.

Jim put his work away and came back to bed.  He slid into the bed on the other side of Mycroft and spoke firmly, “Mycroft… Mycroft it’s me… you finally came for tea, don’t you remember?”

Mycroft settled slowly.  The hospital and the prison faded and blurred and he was in interrogation with Moriarty, sitting down finally to give him what he wanted.  How had he never realized how much alike all the interrogation facilities looked? It was cleaner than the one he’d been in, but…

“Do they all use the same paint?” Mycroft wondered.

Sebastian looked at Jim, “paint?” he mouthed: Jim shrugged.

Jim started petting him, after a moment and a wicked smirk, Sebastian did as well. It didn’t take long for Mycroft’s body to respond.

Mycroft was in bed with Henry, one of those blissful stolen moments. “Henry…” he smiled; they didn’t have much time.  Henry just kissed him and time slipped away.

Jim kissed him and… _He’d said Henry?  And he was… was the Iceman crying?!_   Jim touched a tear on his face and looked up at Sebastian in shock.

Sebastian considered– _grieving, the man was SIS and intelligence from way back…_   He put on his best ‘condolences to the bereaved’ military voice: “Sir? Mister Holmes?  We need his full identification… to notify the family…”

“…Henry Albert James; his family is in Wales…I’ll call…” Mycroft’s voice was steady but tears were pouring down his face.

Jim was staring at the man in shock until Mycroft visibly pulled himself together. “All lives end…” his voice caught slightly, “… caring is not an advantage…” he sank back into himself.

Jim slid out of bed and waved back at Sebastian, “Keep him grounded.” He went to the good computer and started searching.

Sebastian wrapped his arms around the man; pressure and contact helped settle Jim, it might work on Mycroft.  After a few minutes it seemed to work, Mycroft settled somewhat, just shivering in his arms as Sebastian kneaded into his back.

Jim had the records very quickly:they were old and no longer as secured. Henry Albert James; buried in London despite family in Wales: buried, in fact, not far from Sherlock’s false grave.  Died in the line of duty.  He was MI6 and his death was buried under layers of security, but it was there–poisoned in a security meeting, no survivors, apparently.  It wasn’t stated but…

…Jim could picture Mycroft watching the cameras–because there had been video– from London, unable to help as his lover and … well, other people… died.

Jim came back to the bed. Mycroft was lying in Sebastian’s arms while his Sebie made familiar soothing noises and… Jim smiled faintly.

“Found him.” Jim said quietly. “Dead ages ago…” he lowered his voice even more, “I think Mycroft witnessed it–video.”

“He’s settled some.” Sebastian sighed. “Jim… I… I kind of liked him on the plane, and…”

“Feeling sorry for him?”

Sebastian looked guilty, “Yeah, a bit.  I don’t normally care, but I guess he must remind me of you too much.”

“Isn’t it odd, Tiger?  I would have sworn there was nothing but ice and tweed all the way down…” Jim’s voice had an uncharacteristic softness.

“We’re keeping him?”

“We’ll keep him or kill him fast, Tiger…” Jim shook his head, “… going soft.”

“Never.” Sebastian leaned over Mycroft and kissed him.

Jim smiled wickedly, “well, you know how they woke up Sleeping Beauty?”

“Kissed her?” Sebastian looked down at Mycroft, “you did…”

“Nah, in the original the prince fucked her and knocked her up.”

Sebastian looked suspiciously at him, “Are you serious?”

“Uh huh.”

He looked down at Mycroft, “I THINK that’s a bit impossible.”

“Betcha a good solid orgasm would bring him around though.”

Sebastian hesitated. “Boss? If he was ever raped before… it might drive him further down…”

Jim blinked. “Good thinking Tiger… what can we do that is unlikely to trigger a BAD memory?”

Sebastian considered, “Blow job? Rapists rarely do that, but his lover might have…”

Jim grinned, “You’re good, Sebie, but that…”

Sebastian grinned back, “I wouldn’t dream of it–leave it to the master.”

“You worry about kissing him and … keep petting him.”

Sebastian pressed his lips against Mycroft’s and gently explored with his tongue until Mycroft let him in.  It was softer than Sebastian went for, but they were trying to coax the man out. Sebastian began to understand how you could get a bit of a kink for somnophilia: the man was warm, and he didn’t fight–he certainly wasn’t dead–but he was lying passively under him, letting Sebastian do anything. Slowly his breath started getting faster, and his eyelids fluttered.  He glanced down to see Jim doing things that…

“You bastard,” Sebastian whispered as his erection went from zero to ‘right now damn it’.  Jim just glanced up amused and kept doing tricks with his tongue that should resurrect the dead.

 _Seemed to be working_ , thought Sebastian, as Mycroft started panting and his hands clenched and twisted in the sheets… and then he gasped and arched and his eyes flew open–seeing nothing.

~

Jim found him responsive enough to hands, and then to mouth.  He was deep in his mind and likely unaware of a lot, or… _remembering other blow jobs? Well that simply would not do…_

He teased with his tongue, and coaxed and felt Mycroft’s breath stutter and saw his hands clench… _heh_. Jim was feeling his way, how did he like it? Slower than Sebie… deeper here, oh… he liked that? Sebie  found it a bit too much…

Mycroft began to gasp and his hands clenched the sheets; he was arching up and being captured by Sebastian’s mouth and hands… Jim kept him on edge and glanced up every now and then: Tiger had his hands full, apparently–he’d stopped looking down.

Jim didn’t want him to tip over the edge into pain, so he picked up the pace, and finally let the man come, gasping and clutching at the sheets, Sebastian swallowing his shouts with his mouth…

Ours.

One way or another Mycroft…

~

Mycroft was drifting.  He couldn’t quite place himself.  He’d seen Henry’s death again... and then it had… someone in uniform? Asking?  Had that happened?

Someone letting him cry into their shoulder… no that had never happened.  He was never allowed tears, but he leaned into the strong arms of someone–not Henry, but he didn’t know who–and sobbed.  Uncle Rudy was tearing him down for his weakness. He couldn’t move his arms, for some reason.

He was drifting again, and there were voices… it was important, it was worrisome… something about fairy tales? Fairy tales are for children and Sherlock was crying and Viktor was missing and Euros with her dead eyes…

And then someone kissed him.  He thought he should fight, but that would mean coming back… leaving his mind… hands clutched him and hissed at him–failure… failure!

Sensation starting prickling uncomfortably along his nerves.  It wasn’t pain–he could ignore pain here… and he was being interrogated and he hurt and they had a knife…

Henry? Henry was kissing him and his hand was doing wonderful things… but that wasn’t Henry, and that wasn’t a hand…

Someone was sucking and biting at his jaw and his throat–but no one would, never marks, never above the collar– and that was a MOUTH on him, and it was wonderful and so much better even than the man he’d hired, and Oh GOD don’t stop! And he couldn’t move his arms and all he could do was lie there and clutch at the sheets–excellent sheets, expensive, and something underneath– and there were two mouths on him and he was coming apart and his mind palace blasted away in a blaze of sensation.

…

There was a man holding his shoulders and pulling away from his mouth, and a warm wet cloth on his private parts and Jim Moriarty’s voice,

“And then he woke up…”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for ...(puts head in hands) look, there is no non con penetrative sex in here, but..."dead dove: do not eat" okay?  
> Bathing, kissing, biting, and we finally try to talk... kind of.

Mycroft was trying desperately to orient himself.  In bed–a memory of clutching sheets– restrained? Yes, but not badly–couldn’t move his arms–two mouths, two men… Jim Moriarty and his lover Sebastian.

Jim slid up across his naked skin until he came into view, all wicked dark eyes and a smirk.  Mycroft looked quickly away only to meet the eyes of his purchaser, Sebastian, heated and possessive.

He felt himself start to panic and willed his heart to stop racing.

“Before you do something you’ll regret, Mycroft…” Jim’s voice in his ear and his breath across his neck, “Your mind appears to be a very nasty place to spend any time…”

“You’d definitely enjoy it more here,” Sebastian said kissing Mycroft’s jaw.

“What… what do you…” _No, no his mind wasn’t a good place to go_.  Mycroft started shivering despite his best efforts at control.

“You were an unexpected present, Mycroft, I never expected to see you again–I did say that.” And Jim was laying on him and running his hand across Mycroft’s chest.

Sebastian murmured, “His nipples are sensitive,” before reaching down to prove it.

Mycroft tried to retreat into his mind, but it was… _it wasn’t safe_ … and it was so hard to leave when there were hands, and skin… he was balanced between fleeing back into his mind, and knowledge that if he did… _would he ever come back out?_

Jim lifted his head and kissed Sebastian over Mycroft’s body–their lips close enough to touch his almost– they were rough and passionate and disgusting and his body was echoing from what they’d done… _Oh God…_

They broke apart, Sebastian looking down at him, “You’re attractive enough, but I want to kiss you when you’re awake…”

“I’m not attractive–”

“Sebie likes tall, pale, redheads…” Jim said amusedly. “Now do you want to talk first or something else?”

“Threats then.” Mycroft tried to school his body to not react.

Sebastian looked down at him, “Oh that wasn’t a THREAT, Mycroft…” and kissed him.  His tongue was trying to enter his mouth and Mycroft wanted to gag and then hands just shy of bruising strength  wrapped around him and  found every spot that was too tight, too tense, and… Mycroft moaned despite himself and his mouth opened.

“Doesn’t anyone touch you, Mycroft?” Jim asked him curiously while Sebastian’s hands were taking all the tension out of his shoulders.

Sebastian’s mouth moved down to his jaw and throat again, while Jim’s hands started  stroking his front, he could feel Jim’s skin pressed close, feel his erection…

“No!” Mycroft started to struggle.

“Shhhh… shhhh…” Jim curled tighter into his back, “I’m not doing anything you don’t want…”

Sebastian just kept biting and kissing at his throat, holding Mycroft’s head still with his mouth.

Jim’s hands kept moving across his skin, but his body was pressed tight against Mycroft’s back, and it was just warm… _he wasn’t… wasn’t trying…_

The problem with being panicked for too long is that the adrenaline simply can’t sustain itself, Mycroft found his body relaxing slowly.

Jim started biting and kissing at the back of his neck and shoulders.  He could feel both of them stop and kiss each other against his neck.

“What… what do you WANT?!” Mycroft had tried to keep his voice calm and level, he really had, but what came out was shaken and panicked.

“You.” Sebastian said  as he pulled back to look Mycroft in the eye, “I lost my taste for pretty vapid things as soon as I met Jim–but I still do like them tall and pale; every mark shows on your skin, you know?”

Jim was holding him around his stomach, and was a warm press of skin against his back, “It’s true,” he spoke almost into Mycroft’s shoulder, “some marks last for moments, some will be a bit longer, I think…”

Sebastian ran his hands down Mycroft’s back, sliding them in between his body and Jim’s before starting back up to his shoulders. “Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“Much as a Mycroft Sandwich seems very cozy… you think you could spare a bit of attention for your poor Tiger?”

Mycroft felt Jim smile against his shoulder. “Anything… what did you want?”

“How about if I hold onto Mycroft and you… do whatever you feel like?”

“You know me so well,” Jim chuckled and slipped away. 

Before Mycroft had a chance to feel the cool air on his back for more than a moment, before he had a chance to miss the skin pressed against him, he was pushed down into the bed and Sebastian was on top of him. 

He took Mycroft’s face in his hands and made him look at him, “I am so glad I didn’t just shoot you…” and then he was kissing him again.

Jim’s voice from the side of the bed, “That’s about as romantic as Sebastian gets, Mycroft, you should be flattered.” And there was the sound of drawers opening but the hands all over him and the mouth were making it hard to think.  He couldn’t… and he couldn’t move his arms.

Jim climbed back on the bed and Mycroft saw him over Sebastian’s shoulder and then he was biting and kissing at the man and Sebastian threw his head back and moaned.

Mycroft’s mind kicked into gear enough to realize: _I’m in a padded waist belt and cuffs, also padded; the links between them must have been covered or padded because there was a bit of motion but no noise…_

And then Sebastian jerked forward into Mycroft and groaned.  Jim was down near Mycroft’s legs and groin and… _what was he doing?!_   Whatever it was, was driving Sebastian half mad.

Sebastian kissed him and moaned into Mycroft’s mouth.  Mycroft was frozen between terror and a feeling he’d completely suppressed-for very good reason– since adolescence: lust. Sebastian’s hands were kneading into him, holding him, his weight pressing him into the bed, but his face had no anger or hate or… god the man was... _Lust, submission–to Jim–dominance and possessiveness –to Mycroft… and jim?– Sex…_

Mycroft struggled to hold on to his observations, to look around the room for escape, but the sensations kept battering at him… he could see Sebastian building toward an orgasm–feel it in the way his mouth became more desperate on Mycroft’s skin… Sebastian came; sticky liquid onto Mycroft’s body… he tried desperately to remain quiet, but any noise he made was drowned in Sebastian’s moan.

“You two are such a nice contrast…” Moriarty’s voice, but breathless and amused, “I want to see you laced together in good rope…”

“I’m all for it…” Sebastian answered, lying collapsed on Mycroft.

Suddenly Moriarty was beside him disheveled and puffy lipped. “I would very happily fuck you until you forget words, Mycroft, but at some point before that we need to talk and eat.”

Mycroft certainly hadn’t forgotten words, but none of them seemed appropriate and so he was left staring wide eyed with Sebastian’s body pressing him in place and Moriarty tracing designs on the two of them with his fingers.

“I put a bottle of water…” Sebastian mumbled and waved.

Jim rolled away and sat up, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig. “Want some Sebie?”

“Not THAT bottle.”

Jim laughed and Mycroft had a sudden realization of where those lips might have been–he flinched.

Sebastian stretched and lifted his weight off of Mycroft.  He looked down, amused, “Gotta love a ginger, you mark up so pretty…”

“He does, doesn’t he?”

“You…” Mycroft closed his eyes, “You want information and this is absolutely not going to get it for you.”

Jim made a tcht noise. “No, we both think you’re attractive and interesting and we plan on keeping you.  That has nothing to do with information, nothing at all.”

“What?!”

Sebastian nosed at his jaw and started doing things with his mouth, working down slowly toward his chest.  In between bites and licks he said, “Jim says… they sent you … off to… get… you… killed.”

If he said anything more Mycroft didn’t hear it as Sebastian sucked hard on a nipple.

Jim cleared his throat, “Sebastian, darling?  I don’t think we’ll get many answers while you do that.”

“Don’t care.” He reached out to grab Moriarty only to have the man dance back.

“Ooooh no, Tiger… next round will be after we wash up, eat, and change the sheets… possibly after some computer work.”

Sebastian sighed, “I’ll get the better restraints.” And got off the bed.

Mycroft determined that talking to them at all was likely a very bad idea, but… “You find these restraints insufficient?”

Jim smirked, “Honey… these are designed to be secure, but very comfy–however, leather and padding do NOT go well with a bath or shower.”

 _That should have been perfectly obvious._ “A… shower… like before…” _GOD I needed to clean off._ Mycroft shuddered again as he felt fluids and… “Look, can’t you just shoot me? You… you had your fun, and I won’t–”

Jim looked at him, “I expect the bitch tried to make you suicidal too, Mycroft, but I suggest you think about it.  You dealt with her far longer than I did, but you also knew what you were getting into,” Jim glared at him, “NOT that I got any warning.”

Mycroft flinched, which may be why he didn’t see what Sebastian had until he started fastening it in place.  Mycroft struggled, but he was already at a disadvantage.  By the time they unlocked his ankle–he hadn’t noticed it was cuffed– he was in a solid metal collar, that had some kind of a solid bar hanging down his back, to which his wrists were attached.  It was less than comfortable.

Sebastian wasn’t the disinterested and somewhat angry man he had been last time, instead he stayed close, the warmth of his skin quite detectable as he shepherded him into the bathroom.

This was their bathroom, not the one he’d been in before, and it was… alarming.  There was a bathtub that would likely fit all three of them, and a shower likewise, but… it was dark, and there were rings in the wall that looked like they could hold far more than towels…

“As long as you behave, Mycroft, no one has to be tied to a wall,” Jim laughed, “I mean unless that turns you on.”

Mycroft thought of retreating into his mind– _Uncle Rudy and death and Sherlock and his parents_ – thought of what could happen to him here if he did– _his body vacant pliant, available_ – and he shuddered again.

Sebastian considered him thoughtfully. “Jim, honey? I think he does: get the cable?”

Jim looked over at him and then back at Mycroft, “You think?”

“Yeah.  I figure he’s as close to you as we’re likely to find on that side of things, so he’s probably a bit too vicious to trust around tile.”

_Damn it._

Jim laughed and walked away, returning with a cable and locks. “I should be jealous.” He said as he locked the cable to the wall of the shower, and the other end to one of his wrists.  He took the key away and came back.

 Mycroft wouldn’t be able to leave the shower without some kind of tool.

They washed him first. Mycroft shivered under four sets of hands soaping and rinsing his body and hair.  They took care not to get soap in his eyes, but both of them spent a great deal of time touching him. It was without a doubt the strangest, most erotic, and most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him.  Rape would have been far less personal. Jim’s eyes were full of malice, or mischief, or both, as he watched Mycroft.  He could probably see every shiver no matter how carefully concealed.  Sebastian looked at him with an expression of ownership, but his hands were gentle if firm.

They didn’t do anything overtly sexual, but the experience was…causing reactions.

When they were finally done he was guided to sit on the built in seat in a corner, out of the spray.  Then Sebastian started to wash Jim… It looked… it looked very much like it had felt to Mycroft.  Sebastian had a possessive air about him, washing Jim as though he were a spectacular vase he’d added to his collection.  Eventually he ended up on his knees in the shower… Mycroft wanted desperately not to watch…

But he did, carefully, gathering information…

~

Sebastian was being unusually affectionate, probably to reassure Jim that Mycroft wasn’t taking TOO much of his attention–Jim wasn’t about to dissuade him.  Eventually Sebastian slid to his knees.

“May I?”

Jim nodded and watched Mycroft out of the corner of his eye while Sebastian began to lick, and suck.  Mycroft looked equal parts alarmed and fascinated… Jim had to fight not to giggle.  Eventually though his attention turned wholly to Sebastian as his tongue swirled and teased.

“Enough playing?” Jim grinned down at him.

“…Please…” Sebastian panted into him.

Jim sunk his fingers in his hair and forced him to take him down until his nose was pressed to Jim’s flesh.  He waited until Sebastian began to struggle and let him up for air.  He only had to do it once more before Sebastian went down, pliant and submissive–for the moment–content in having been dominated enough to surrender.

Jim looked down at his Tiger when he recovered. “I’m going to edge you until you beg yourself hoarse, Tiger…”

“Promises, promises.”  Sebastian stood up slowly and finished washing himself off. He pulled Jim in tight and crushed him against himself: Jim arched his neck back and let Sebastian mark him… below the collar, always.

Sebastian had his fingers dug into Jim’s hair and came up from leaving the imprint of his mouth on Jim’s body to growl promises and threats into his ear: Jim moaned.

“You’ll have to earn it, Tiger,” Jim smiled and brought a finger up to trace along Sebastian’s cheekbone.

“Don’t I always?”

Jim was the first one to remember Mycroft and turned to look at him–he’d recovered some of his more usual demeanor and was sitting quietly, watching; a faint frown on his face.  The frown seemed to be his default expression–he actually looked rather alarmed underneath it all.

Jim smirked at him, “We take turns, yes… although in the final analysis I’m in charge.”

“…not what I would have expected.” Mycroft said quietly.

“That I can enjoy submission?” Jim laughed and let Sebastian towel him off.

“It… did not seem likely.”

Jim ran a hand down Sebastian’s arm, took the towel, and helped to dry his Tiger off. “That’s because there is one person, in the entire world, I TRUST enough to be that vulnerable to…” 

Jim pulled Sebastian down into a kiss.  “Let’s get Mycroft tidied up,” he said when he came up for air, “And then…” he glanced at Mycroft, “we can find out why your colleagues are trying to get you killed.”

The interesting thing was that Mycroft didn’t look surprised… not at all.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim, Sebastian, and Mycroft finally try to sit down and talk...
> 
> added CW: food kinks

Mycroft was stunned speechless when he was given clothing. Moriarty pulled out several different items before settling on something like pajama bottoms which Sebastian put on him without fuss.

“I don’t think he’s used to going barefoot, Sir, might want to get him those slippers.”

“You’re just saying that because you hate them.”

“Both… both is a thing.” Sebastian smirked.

Mycroft couldn’t figure out why Sebastian hated them, as they were fleece lined and quite comfortable.  He was trying to get his mind back to functioning at full speed: the combination of injuries, lack of food, and the unexpected terrors in his mind palace had his thoughts  sluggish.

The metal restraints were removed while he was carefully restrained by Sebastian, and a pajama top–it didn’t match the bottoms– was pulled onto him before the soft restraints were replaced.  Mycroft finally got a good look at them: indeed padded leather, and the chain links connecting the cuffs to the belt had a sleeve of sorts to minimize sound.

_Why did they give me clothes?_

“Sebie?” Jim called from the closet, which appeared to be nearly another room, “If you actually want him to eat, get him the longer chain.”

“I thought  we’d hand feed him?”

Jim cackled as he came out of the closet, “I don’t know, Sebie… he’d probably prefer to starve.”

Sebastian looked puzzled, “If you say so.”

Mycroft was watching the interplay and trying to get his deductions to work: Sebastian was subordinate, that was true, but… it seemed that Moriarty actually cared for the man; he’d certainly told the truth about trusting him. 

Mycroft was taken to another room where there were three chairs set at a table.  Mycroft was utterly confused that he was placed at one of them.  He’d expected to be forced to kneel: forcing him to degrade himself for food should be the next step in conditioning him–trying to break him…

It didn’t make sense: he felt disconnected and disoriented.

Jim smiled at Mycroft’s confusion. “If  I wanted you shattered to bits Mycroft, I would have let you stay under longer–as it is Sebie and I were away for work and didn’t find out how badly off you were until we were on our way home.”

“I rather had the idea that was your goal…” _The room was admirably designed for it after all_.  Mycroft felt ill thinking about it.

“Mmm… yes.” Jim shrugged, “At first.” He laughed suddenly, “But as I told your brother and his little pet: I’m very changeable–especially when I get more information.”

“I doubt I was rescued by a timely call from Ms. Adler.” Mycroft felt a bit faint.

“Sir?!” Sebastian caught the man as Mycroft slid sideways–he was pale even for him.

“The hell?” Jim startled out of his chair.

“Shit… sir, he ran out his reserves I think…”

…

Mycroft was vaguely aware of being settled onto a sofa, propped slightly upright and given juice, and then soup.

When he managed to focus again Jim smirked. “If you wanted to be hand fed you could have just asked.”

“I assure you I have no interest–”

Jim rolled his eyes, “Yes you do, Mycroft, but no, that wasn’t the problem–you just fainted.”

Sebastian brought over a small table and put his plate of food on it, as well as a bowl of fruit.

Sebastian’s eyes were rather avid, “Now since you did faint on us, obviously I HAVE to hand feed you.”

Jim snorted, “If I figure out you came up with a way to make him faint on demand, Sebie…”

“I don’t–” Mycroft had just started to say when Sebastian spooned… what was arguably the best risotto of his life into his mouth.

Jim saw the expression on Mycroft’s face and burst out laughing. “Oh don’t ENCOURAGE him, Mycroft…”

Mycroft felt himself  flushing despite his best attempts and tried to protest, only to get a bite of…when he could finish savoring the bite of steak, he looked up to meet  the rather heated gaze Sebastian was giving him and the intensely amused look from Moriarty.

“Sir, you did NOT tell me about this…”

“I guess the Iceman managed to keep a few secrets, Sebie, I knew he liked good food…”

Every time Mycroft tried to protest Sebastian coaxed another bite of food, or a piece of fruit into his mouth.  The fact that this was humiliating in and of itself was made worse by the fact that Sebastian started… petting him.

Jim leaned over the back of the sofa next to Mycroft, “Sebastian has a hell of a caretaker kink for a sociopath…”

“He’s hardly–”  the last bit of the meal was brought to his lips–Sebastian’s intense look was unnerving.

“While I know the diagnosis is rather subject to interpretation, it is what was on my discharge papers.” Sebastian said with a smile.  He reached past Mycroft to pull Jim down into a filthy kiss. “Boss? I’m stealing your present back….”

“Now, now Sebie, we’re going to share,” Jim snickered, “But at least you have someone who likes being hand fed even more than I do…”

“I’m simply a bit weak at the moment…” Mycroft said trying to find a way to get further from the pair. “And whoever diagnosed you was an idiot.”

“I think they just looked at how much Sebie likes hurting people, and how turned on he gets from blood and got a bit upset.” Moriarty smiled cheerfully, still leaning over the couch. “Up to a chat yet?”

“I’m not telling you any–”

“Booooring!” Jim snorted and suddenly dropped over the back of the sofa to lie practically in Mycroft’s lap. “I don’t give a toss about your silly state secrets–if I wanted them I’d have them already, or have you forgotten the Bruce-Partington plans?”

“I assure you I have not.” Mycroft reflexively tried to pinch the bridge of his nose and found his restraints wouldn’t reach.  He might be able to strangle one of the men, though.

Sebastian took Mycroft’s face in his hands, gently, “You even think about hurting Jim and I will break every bone in your hands.” He said it almost gently as well.  Mycroft stared at the man: _deadly absolutely serious._

“You cannot expect me not to try to escape…”

Jim lay happily with his head in Mycroft’s lap watching.

Sebastian smiled and stroked Mycroft’s face as he drew his hands away, “I rather like you, so if you try to escape, Mycroft, I will simply bring you back–I’d hate to have to shoot you again, but I will if I must–but if you hurt Jim in any way?  Well… I’m not attracted to your hands, or feet.”

Mycroft stared at Sebastian and then glanced down at the cheerfully unconcerned Jim lying in his lap. “Understood.”

“Sooo now that we got that out of the way…” Jim said happily, not moving from his lap, “You knew they were sending you to get killed?  Did your cunning plan to stop it fail or something?”

“I knew they were hoping I would be killed–at least a few people– I wasn’t certain of the lengths they would go to until the attack occurred.  I admit I was expecting an assassination, not…” Mycroft forced himself to breathe as the screams, the gun shots, the expectation of his own death all tried to drag him down.

Jim wriggled slightly against Mycroft’s leg–he was surprisingly muscled–“Well, it seems that at least two people leaked the information–one of the leaks got to the group that took your meeting down: the other one? Well, lucky us they muddied the trail of your survival even more by arriving JUST after you got moved.”

“Wonderful.” Mycroft muttered.

Sebastian sat down with a drink in the chair facing the sofa, “Of course we arranged for a bit of infighting over the territory I collected you from as well, but that was at a bit of a remove from the meeting.”

Jim shrugged–it felt very odd against Mycroft’s thigh– “so how did they manage to get you to go, and with so few guards?”

“My position was precarious after everything that happened. I have no idea how much you know about it.”

“Close to zero I expect.” Jim hummed a bit, “After the bitch almost killed me I tended to stay well away from England.”

“I did finally realize you were lying about her helping you fake your death.”

Jim smiled fondly. “Sebastian did that.”

Sebastian frowned, “He was planning on killing himself on that roof… before or after your brother jumped…”

“Oh the snipers would have done it after…Sebie, I wouldn’t have needed to.” Jim waved a hand. “Sebie convinced me to try living a bit longer, and then we had to work fast to set up the fake out.” Jim rolled his head to the side off of Mycroft’s lap and sat up, “After a bit the…suggestions… started to fail. They fail even faster once you realize they’re THERE.”

Sebastian looked thoughtfully at Mycroft, “so… does the bitch want you dead? Or does she want you back to play with? Because–”

“She has apparently stopped playing.” Mycroft sighed, “I don’t know, I am no longer permitted to go to the prison.” His lips thinned even further, “Supposedly she is non-responsive, but Sherlock and our parents go to visit her now…”

To both of their shock he closed his eyes and had to visibly try to regain his composure.  Jim hesitantly reached out and touched his shoulder, “Mycroft?  Iceman? Mikey?”

Mycroft pulled his normal affect around himself: it was fascinating to watch– Sebastian thought he could almost SEE the suit and tie on the man.

“Oooh that’s lovely….” Jim looked blissed watching him.

“I expect watching me lose my composure would–”

“Oh, that was good too, but watching you put on the show when I know what’s underneath it?” Jim’s eyes glittered and his tongue ran over his teeth, “I just want to lick the icing off of you.”

Mycroft once again found himself at a complete loss as to how to respond: neither of the two reacted like anything he was used to.

Sebastian smiled affectionately at Jim. “Come here, honey.”

He held out his arm and Jim got up and curled into Sebastian’s lap, “You get me the bestest presents, Tiger.”

“Both of you are completely baffling.” Mycroft once again tried to pinch the bridge of his nose and had his hand jerked to a stop by the cuffs.

“So what happened to blow it all up?” Sebastian asked, “Something bad enough to cause your own people to turn on you and to get barred from the prison you run?  And then this?”

“Euros turned out to be in control of the prison, and… able to get out.”  Mycroft waited for the reaction.

Jim looked puzzled at him and shrugged, “well… yeah?”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing the plot holes... and why couldn't Mycroft see them

Mycroft stared at Jim and then looked at the completely unsurprised–if slightly puzzled–Sebastian. “You…knew?”

One corner of Jim’s mouth quirked up, then the other and then an unsettlingly broad smile crept across his face, “Mycroft,” he said quietly, but with a vicious edge, “You should have known that… you should have known that years ago… the fact that you didn’t should be proof enough that she had you alllllll wrapped up.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, “And yet I do not see how I could have…there were precautions in place…”

Jim uncoiled himself from Sebastian and walked up to him, walked almost into him and sat on his lap, straddling his legs.  Mycroft could see Sebastian tense over Jim’s shoulder and clenched his fists down at his sides.

Jim smiled, it was more what he expected this time–predatory and dark and vicious and promising pain– “So… she’s supposedly all tame and safe except she never let you see what she was before, and she has her hooks into your parents and my darling Sherlock…”

“She almost killed us all.  Watson was nearly drowned in the same way as…”

“Redbeard? Sweet Victor?” Jim draped his arms over Mycroft’s shoulders, leaned in, and spoke into Mycroft’s ear, “It wasn’t hard to find the details once she told me where to look, Mycroft.”

Mycroft dug his fingers into the back of the sofa. “She… You knew she could get out, how?”

“I’ll tell you Mycroft, but there’s a price.”

“Which is?”

“Once I tell you, it will be obvious how long you’ve been under her sway…”

“I’m not…”  Mycroft paused, “I… was resistant…”

Jim snickered, “Oh? Resistant doesn’t mean immune, darling, and when you have nothing better to do than play games? You get very good at it… In any event once I tell you it will be obvious, and what I want, Mycroft, is for you to actually face it.”

“Why would I not face facts?” Mycroft frowned, “My brother is the–”

“Because you never want to face the facts that mean you were wrong, or weak, or... human.”

 _Failure! Your fault!_ Screamed in the back of Mycroft’s mind. “I believe you are incorrect–my faults are… rather well known to me.”

Jim curled into him; hands gripping the pajama top–Mycroft could feel it threatening to tear–“So tell me, Mycroft…”

Jim leaned his forehead into Mycroft’s–staring him in the eyes– “How could I have made all of those recordings, filmed all of those things, done everything she asked of me… in five minutes.”

~

Jim watched as Mycroft’s eyes startled wide open… and… his eyes started moving rapidly, searching data… before they fixed on nothing in particular.

“So he’s gone for a bit.” Jim said casually getting up off of his lap. “Wonder if we’ll have to pull him back up?”

“It was fun, but I hope not,” Sebastian sighed, “I’d like him to be sane–well, coherent anyway.”

Jim wandered over and poured himself a drink, “He certainly did keep a lot concealed, even from me.” then Jim grinned, “Including just HOW amenable to some of your kinks he is.”

“He seems well matched to a few of your less bloody ones too.”

“Yes, well–”

“You must have met in London…” Mycroft said quietly.  “She had gotten out then… and she had to have access to the televisions and everything to broadcast… how? How could I not have realized?”

“Because she told you not to.” Jim walked over and put a glass down in front of Mycroft. “Normally I’d give you a scotch but in your current state? It’s juice. Glad you didn’t go under for that long.”

“I wasn’t trying to retreat, merely to review data.” Mycroft looked at him warily.

“She fucked with your head, and the best way to get past it is to admit she DID… although just questioning helps.”

Mycroft remembered what Jim had said and asked, “She tried to make you suicidal?”

Sebastian grumbled, “She gave him the idea that dying on that roof would be great, like a big Romeo and Juliet thing…”

“Sebastian talked me out of it… and… raised questions about why I thought it was a good idea.” Jim sat down on the chair next to Sebastian. “Once I started questioning…”

Mycroft nodded slowly, “Her strongest effects are always when it’s something… she already has to… work with… oh.”  He closed his eyes and opened them again–he looked older suddenly–“I already believed she was adequately restrained… so of course it was easy to keep me from realizing that she wasn’t. It’s much easier to keep the status quo…”

“So can I KILL her yet?” Sebastian sighed at Jim.

“…maybe.”

Sebastian sat up suddenly; that was the first time Jim had said anything other than ‘no’ to that question.

“But I need to know what she’s been up to–or at least what Mycroft THINKS she’s been up to–before I decide.”

Mycroft stared down at his juice, “She took over the entire prison, the warden is dead, so is his wife. She killed a number of people throughout London, tortured myself, Sherlock, and most of our associates…at this point Sherlock is… mostly talking to John Watson again, but neither will talk to me.  My parents blame me for the fact of her imprisonment and the secrecy, and they have told me not to come home–at this point they are not even speaking to me– and the chaos and danger to national security and the massive damage to various intelligence operations has been laid at my door.”

Mycroft looked up, mask firmly back in place, and sipped his juice. “Was there anything specific you wanted to know?”

Sebastian whistled. “Damn.”

Jim considered, “Anyone important hurt or killed?  I mean you just implied Watson is okay…”

Mycroft considered ‘important people’ and said, “I do not know who you consider important, but Sherlock and John were both physically and mentally injured.  Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson both escaped involvement; Molly Hooper was upset, but not–”

“Hold it!” Jim frowned, “MOLLY was involved in this?  Molly the mouse?”

“Ah, no… not… Euros claimed she would be killed if… if Sherlock did not successfully get her to confess that she loved him.”  Mycroft was startled by his vehemence and then… “Did… you… care?  About her?” _Moriarty_?  Mycroft tried to fit the puzzle together; _she had not been targeted…_

Sebastian abruptly grabbed Jim, “NO STABBING IN THE LIVING ROOM!”

Mycroft realized that Jim had a small knife in his hand and a rather terrifying scowl on his face. “I wasn’t aware that I had said anything worth stabbing me over?” He did his best to stay still and calm–there wasn’t much he could do to defend himself in restraints.

“Jim… Jim…he just asked a question… no one’s laughing at you…”

Mycroft rather suddenly remembered the claim that Carl Powers had been killed because he laughed at the man… somehow he didn’t think he would be lucky enough to die that fast.

Jim glared at Sebastian and Sebastian just held him.  Eventually Jim muttered, “Right… right… well if Mycroft had someone he liked once I suppose he wouldn’t.”

Mycroft didn’t feel like he was operating at full speed even now, but he recognized imminent danger when he saw it. “I was… surprised.” He said carefully, watching Sebastian’s eyes for direction. “Then again my own brother was, I suspect, unaware of his affection for Doctor Hooper until… until rather late.”

Sebastian nodded slightly at Mycroft and then addressed Moriarty, “Jim… Mycroft isn’t laughing and I REALLY doubt he’s going to hurt Molly.”

“Certainly not!” Mycroft protested.

“Even if he could.” Sebastian raised an eyebrow at Mycroft and then considered… “Jim… Why don’t you go strip and re-do the bed, hmm? I’ll clean up here and get Mycroft some more drinks and you can tie me to the bed, okay?”

Jim glowered and Sebastian lowered his head and smiled a rather seductive smile, “You don’t want to tie me up?”

Jim grumbled. “You’re an idiot, Tiger.”

“If so I’m still your idiot.”

“Mmm.” Jim tried to frown but a corner of his mouth kept twitching.  He got up and walked out.

Mycroft tried not to shake as Sebastian got him another glass of juice.  It took him a bit to control his nerves enough to speak.

“Still rather volatile I see.”

“He has triggers–you hit two.” Sebastian sat down next to him and put an arm around him.  Mycroft flinched and went very stiff and still.

“It’s my arm, around your shoulders, over a shirt.” Sebastian shook his head, “You seem to like being touched for all the phobia you have about it.”

“My family is not… physical.” Mycroft tried to sound calm while he finished his juice. “Are there any more triggers I should know about? I’m not sure I followed those.”

“He isn’t very comfortable with emotions.  Something you might understand–attachments are a weakness and people will HURT you if they find out you care about anything.”

“I wasn’t aware that he could–care I mean–other than a peculiar obsession with my brother.” The ‘ _until I saw the two of you together’_ went unspoken.

“Yeah he obsesses on things.” Sebastian nodded. “But he gets very touchy about caring about stuff–especially anything he views as weak, ordinary, soft…”

“Like Doctor Hooper?”

“Apparently he liked her.” Sebastian shrugged. “I wasn’t sure at the time; later it became obvious. Now… we have to get up and get you secured so Jim can tie me to the bed.”

Mycroft dearly wanted to run, but analysis said there was no way to get very far.  He chose to save himself any difficulty and cooperated. They walked back into the bedroom where Jim had already changed the bed and… he had a rather colorful array of ropes laid out.

Mycroft was familiar with the varieties of sexual play–even if he didn’t choose to participate in many– and given the specific ropes, ‘you can tie me up’ appeared to be an understatement.

“I wasn’t aware you had an interest in Shibari.”

Jim looked amused, “I wasn’t aware you knew the word.”

Sebastian dragged a rather comfortable looking chair over to a wall that had been out of sight previously, given how he had been positioned: it had rings rather like the bathroom.   _Obviously Bondage was a large part of their lifestyle._ Sebastian put the collar back on him and attached a cable to the wall, and took the keys well away.

Somewhat to his surprise Jim brought over water and juice bottles. “Now DO try to stay quiet Mycroft.”

Sebastian looked over, “Actually…let me run him to the bathroom first.”

Jim muttered something about pets.

It was humiliating to be watched in the toilet, but preferable to the alternatives.  Mycroft was put back in the chair, given a blanket, and tried very hard to ignore them.

He entirely failed.

~

Jim spent at least twice as long as usual rigging Sebastian into the ropes.  Sebastian just smiled and enjoyed it–Jim was showing off. After an eternity and Sebastian starting to lose track of things he was hanging fully suspended from the four bed posts.

Jim peeled off the sheets, leaving just the water and blood proof layer. “I’m going to make you bleed, Darling…”

“Yes…” Sebastian inhaled and felt the ropes quiver like a spider web. “…My spider…”

Jim started doing who knew what with the blade, and chasing it with his mouth… Sebastian sank into the sensation. The sound of blood drops and sweat hitting the bed forming a background beat to the feeling of Jim’s mouth swallowing around him, swallowing him down, consuming him… eating him alive…

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always: Mycroft is less than his usually reliable narrator
> 
> (also hubby is still too sick to proof read for me, and its hot and icky, so... all mistakes my own)

Mycroft only managed to fall asleep after they did.  He’d been equally fascinated and appalled by what they did–blood and knife play was a known phenomenon but he’d never witnessed it! It did rather look as though Sebastian had been suspended in a spider’s web.  Thankfully Jim had stopped looking at him once he got… involved... in what he was doing.

Watching the slow drips of blood onto a white protective sheet was… fascinating no, no it wasn’t, it was disturbing. Mycroft  sighed, _No, it was fascinating; the more so since it was evidently voluntary and  enjoyed._

His sleep was more restless than usual, and nightmare filled–which was typical– but with Moriarty alive his subconscious presented him with endless images of interrogation, of Sherlock in peril, of his overdoses…

~

Jim woke up to the faint sound of whimpering.  For a moment he had the horrible gut twisting memories of childhood but then he realized they had a prisoner… well… a Mycroft anyway.

He sat up and blinked woozily toward the chair.  Mycroft was curled up so impossibly small… Jim grumbled and got out of bed, leaving his Tiger to rest.  He considered how to wake the man up and found out he WOKE up rather rapidly when Jim’s foot scuffed the carpet.

Mycroft was suddenly awake and his hand went for a weapon that wasn’t there–his hand also jerked against the length of his restraint.

“Mycroft, if you wake Sebastian I will duct tape you to the wall and leave you there.” Jim said quietly.

Mycroft mostly blinked at him.

Jim sighed and got the key. “Cause me the slightest problem…” he said tiredly as he unlocked the leash from the wall.  He tugged on the lead and Mycroft followed him docilely enough.  He locked his leash to the corner post of the bed, tossed the key to the wall out of range, and fell back into bed.

~

Mycroft had mostly woken up because his anti-kidnapping training kicked in.  He had just enough time to process Moriarty’s threat level–high– and follow him to the bed, before the key was thrown out of range and Moriarty fell into bed.  Mycroft was left standing next to the bed without a clue.

He was going to… duct tape me to the wall if I woke Sebastian?  That was a damnably strange threat coming from him.  Shoes… or burning the heart out of you or torture or… well that would make sense, but duct tape?  Mycroft ended up standing there stupidly trying to figure it out until he was snapped out of it by Moriarty’s faint snore.

He looked around to see what was in range. There was a knife… but it wouldn’t cut the metal cable or collar.  It would eventually cut through the belt and cuffs but… that wouldn’t help. There were an array of butt plugs, lubrication and ropes… but that was even less helpful.

_I need to sleep._

He looked at the floor, knowing he should avoid as much contact with his captors as possible, but found himself unwilling to sleep on the floor when the bed was clearly available and quite comfortable.  He eventually steeled his nerves to do so and crept into the bed, staying as far away from Jim and Sebastian as he could.

His dreams were far more pleasant, if vague and sexually charged. He woke up to find Sebastian Moran pressed up against him with an erection, and… horrifyingly… that he had erm… leaked…   he tried to move and Sebastian threw a leg over him.

“Sebie?” Jim’s sleepy voice from the far side of Sebastian.

“Hmmm?” Sebastian mumbled and then stilled dangerously.  He opened his eyes and stared straight at Mycroft who was looking back in a wide eyed fashion.  “What…? What are you doing in bed?”

“Trying to get up?”

Jim’s head came up sleepily over Sebastian’s arm, “Mycroft?”  He stared at him, and then looked back over to the wall. “How the fuck did you get in bed?”

Sebastian slid an arm up and touched the cable. “He’s locked to the bed…”

Mycroft looked back and forth quickly, “Can you let me up?”

“Not until I know how you got here.” Sebastian rumbled and pulled Mycroft in even closer.

Mycroft wanted that, God he wanted that… he swallowed.  The attraction to Moriarty had always been there but distant, like watching a particularly beautiful poisonous snake–fascinating, but not something to hold onto lest he bite.  Sebastian had… tempered him to a degree, and he was the fascination of a lounging tiger, all soft fur and hidden claws.

He didn’t realize he’d relaxed into Sebastian’s hold until Jim muttered, “I still want to know how he got into bed with us.”

“You woke me up, threatened to duct tape me to the wall if I woke up Sebastian–which still makes no sense–and locked the cable to the bed before throwing the key back to the wall.  I could, I suppose, have slept on the floor.”

“I did what?” Jim stared at him.

“Oh,” Sebastian nodded and relaxed, but he kept his arm around Mycroft and his leg thrown over him.

“Oh?!” Jim poked into his back, “what do you mean ‘oh’?”

“You… don’t exactly wake up sometimes, honey.  How many times have you gotten up and done stuff and gone back to bed? and then you have no idea you did?”

“… a few times…but–”

“Sweetheart, do you honestly think he could come up with the duct tape line by himself?” Sebastian’s eyes crinkled in amusement as they moved in Jim’s direction and then back at Mycroft.  His lip curved up in a very feline smile.

Mycroft closed his eyes against the onslaught of…. sensation… and… feelings… and attraction… _oh god not that._

“You honestly think I woke up and–”

“No, I don’t think you woke up, but I think your eyes were open and you did stuff.” Sebastian chuckled and it was rumbling against Mycroft’s chest.

“Why the fuck would I bring him to the bed.” Jim grumbled.

“Because he’s attractive, and intelligent, and it’s not like you don’t have a somewhat Holmes-centric appetite, Jim.”

“I am not my brother.” Mycroft said quietly. “I am well aware that he has always been the more attractive–”

“Oh shut it, Mycroft.” Jim grumbled.

“Jim…” Sebastian’s voice was a growl.

Jim huffed slightly and settled into Sebastian’s back.  Mycroft suddenly realized that it was his chest  and front that had been cut and glanced down… to find himself staring at light scratches in swirls and patterns… as well as the words ‘mine’, ‘Jim’ and ‘tiger’.

Sebastian just muttered, “You’re both pretty, go back to sleep.”

…

Eventually biology required that they leave the bed.

“Shower and bath and… how about the pool today. We can soak while I plot.” Jim scratched his nails down Sebastian’s back and he shivered and arched into it.

“Great.” Sebastian looked over at Mycroft, “Given that there are armed guards, dogs, and of course the two of us… think you can behave a bit? It will be far more pleasant.”

“I would prefer not to have my arms locked behind me again.” Mycroft sighed. “I will not promise not to try to escape, but I believe I have an understanding of the rules.”

Jim looked over, “We have rules?”

“Sebastian is quite protective of you–as he said, attempts to escape are expected, but any damage to your person is likely to result in severe pain.”

Jim blinked at him a bit and then shrugged.  They unlocked him from the bed and took off the padded restraints–leaving the collar and line.

“There is, apparently, no stabbing in the living room.” Mycroft said in his driest and most officious tone.

Jim burst out laughing and Sebastian chuckled, “Not after last time there isn’t.”

Jim grinned, “Okay, point… point. No stabbing anywhere we have silk rugs or good upholstery, not without putting down tarps first.”

Mycroft shivered as he remembered the tarps when he had first been brought in.  Sebastian wrapped an arm around him as Jim unlocked the line from the bed.

“Anything else?” Jim asked, “I gotta admit I didn’t realize we had rules.”

“Don’t wake up Sebastian.”

Jim giggled. “Did I ACTUALLY threaten to duct tape you–”

“To the wall, yes. I was quite bewildered.”

They peeled him out of his pajamas–neither of them was wearing anything– and walked into the bathroom.

Sebastian said, “It’s really more of a ‘don’t wake up whichever of us is exhausted and under slept’ rule because: one, we both tend to be cranky under those circumstances–”

“Stabbity.” Jim said as he started the shower.

“Stabbity?” Mycroft questioned and then looked at Sebastian.

“Oh, that’s a bad word,” Sebastian nodded, “If Jim’s feeling stabbity you get out of the way or find a goon that needs a lesson–which is actually where we were while we were away.”

Jim looked thoughtfully at Mycroft, “I like you with a beard, Mycroft; it suits you and besides it makes you look less icy.”

“I like the ginger.” Muttered Sebastian.

“Yes, well, we all know your tastes, darling.”

Mycroft changed the subject rather hurriedly, “and point two?” he glanced at Sebastian and stopped.  He’d stepped under the shower and water was spraying off his muscles.

He became aware of Jim snickering, “Wait until you see him lying on a hot rock.”

He was pulled into the shower–this time his line was merely clipped to the wall: enough to slow him if he tried anything, but not to lock him in place.

Mycroft tried to stay clear as Sebastian washed Jim first this time, and Jim then considered Sebastian and said, “Mycroft… since we’re sharing you; get your ass over here and your hands on Sebastian.”

Mycroft hesitantly stepped forward. “I… have… ah… I don’t quite...”

Sebastian sighed, “Jim… he has no clue how to touch people.  I really doubt he normally does.”

Jim frowned at Mycroft, “Are you actually that touch-starved? Seriously? Not just recently?  No wonder you’re an icicle.” Jim grabbed Mycroft’s wrist and dragged him in. He poured a dollop of soap into his palm, “Can you pretend you’re washing a car or something?  You do his back; I don’t trust you with the cuts.”

Mycroft stared at the soap in his hand and sighed.  He looked at the expanse of muscle… _This always looked so simple on video_. He rather carefully began trying to wash Sebastian’s back. “I’ve never washed a car.” He muttered.

“Never?” Sebastian asked.

“My parents had me wash dishes when I lived at home.” Mycroft sighed, “The driver usually took the car in to be washed.”

“You were that rich growing up?” Jim sounded bitter.

“No: security.  My mother, before her retirement to help raise us, was one of the foremost mathematical geniuses of the age–still is technically for all that she doesn’t do as much with it.  My Uncle was…. essentially in my position. We had money, certainly, but… security concerns were more of an issue.”

Sebastian reached behind him and took Mycroft’s wrist. “Jim?  Seriously, he doesn’t have a clue…show him.”

Jim sighed and walked around to Sebastian’s back. He pressed his wet nude body up behind Mycroft and whispered, “Just like firearm training, Mycroft…” and put his hands over Mycroft’s hands, directing him.

Jim pressed in close, enjoying Mycroft’s twitches and shivers as he used Mycroft’s hands to wash Sebastian.  Mycroft seemed equal parts repulsed and attracted and feeling the battle of sensation and inclination under him Jim smiled.

“I should have called you the Virgin.”

“Neither of us were.”

“No?” Sebastian asked, as he rolled his head and shoulders back and the muscles flexed under Mycroft’s–and Jim’s–hands.

“My brother was an addict.” Mycroft said bitterly, “And as everyone notes, quite attractive and manipulative.  Did you think we didn’t try to cut off his money?”

To Mycroft’s surprise it was Jim that reacted.  The grip on his hands lessening, and the press of Jim’s body feeling less invasive.

“Oh… I hadn’t… he always had money; I suppose I didn’t think about it.”

“He escaped from the house, and later from rehab–including rather high security rehab–he stole, and he bargained what  he had that we couldn’t take away.”  Mycroft closed his eyes and hoped it was just the shower and that he wasn’t actually crying. “He’s… better now.” He whispered.

Warm arms– _Sebastian had turned around_ – wrapped around him.

Jim sighed, “Is that why he didn’t?  I’d wondered… he didn’t seem adverse to the idea, just the practice…” he leaned into Mycroft again, simply resting on him this time.

“I have no idea if he would ever have had any interest, but… by the time you interacted in person–by the time Watson and that woman and the rest?” Mycroft spoke into Sebastian’s shoulder. “He did not associate sex with…caring.”

Sebastian sighed. “Your whole family is seriously messed up, and coming from me that’s saying something.”

Jim made a face, “If we are GOING to get all maudlin then it damn well better be in a pool and with drinks.”

They finished cleaning off, and Mycroft was led out to a patio–his first glimpse of the outside of…

It was stunning.  There was a pool that overlooked a swath of green that in turn led to the beach.  There was a yacht of some sort anchored in plain sight.  The pool was well maintained, and had a fabric shade over a portion of it… there was a sort of outdoor kitchen and a small bar…

They were nowhere near where he had been, or anyplace he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rather pictured this scene as a bit like Dorothy walking out of the house into Oz. Mycroft KNEW he wasn't near anyplace familiar, but its another thing to SEE it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> swimming pools, flashbacks, and discussion.
> 
> (for a friend who has had a bad day, have a MorMorCroft cuddle pile by the pool)

Jim saw the stunned look on Mycroft’s face and smirked. “Crime pays, if you do it right.”

“Apparently…” Mycroft had to close his eyes against the overwhelming input, he swallowed, “I take it neither of you are concerned about clothing…”

Sebastian chuckled and pulled Mycroft over to a cabinet, “Jim is, or was–I’m breaking him of it slowly.”

“I have merely decided I like it, Tiger, I’m the only one who does any breaking.” Jim sniffed–Sebastian was right, of course, but he wasn’t simply going to admit it.  Jim dove into the pool.

Sebastian shook his head, “He used to be horribly uncomfortable nude.”

“He got over it I see.” Mycroft aimed for a dry tone, although he really had never pictured the man out of his clothes or costumes.

“He’s like you–always projecting an image.” Sebastian said calmly.

“I doubt we are much–” Mycroft stopped as something wet touched him, and then Sebastian’s hand was rubbing it over his shoulders. “What?”

“Sunscreen, Ginger,” Sebastian chuckled, “Judging from your skin you never see the outside of an office, and you never take off your clothes.”

“Err, ah… well, no… the scars… and… I was badly burned as a child.”

“Oh?”

“We went to the beach–it was a disaster.” Mycroft had thought changing the topic away from his interrogation would help but… the smell of the beach–not the same, but still– the bright sun… He found himself trying to focus on the hands steadily covering him in sunscreen.

Sebastian kept applying sunscreen evenly over him while Jim swam several laps.  He was a good competent swimmer and seemed comfortable in the water; eventually he climbed out.

“Almost done, Tiger?”

“I admit to enjoying it a bit much and taking my time.” Sebastian smiled at him. “Your turn, Irish.”

Jim dried off with a towel and spread his arms out in a familiar fashion–Mycroft found himself pressed into service to help apply the substance to him. It was similar enough to washing him to be… not unfamiliar.

“Where are we?” Mycroft finally broke down and asked when they were done with Jim. _Thailand, I think…_

“Thailand, not far from Phuket.” Jim confirmed. “Your turn Sebie.”

“Get the lighter stuff out at least?”

“No. you take enough risks without that.” Jim glared at him and Sebastian sighed.

“Pardon?”

“I hate heavy sunscreen–don’t need it either, I don’t have your skin or even Jim’s.”  He shrugged, “But Jim usually insists.”

“Your sister already had a suspect mole removed, Sebie.”

Mycroft noticed the towels and promptly grabbed one for his dignity.

“Yeah? So?  She never tanned like I did.”

Mycroft hated to interrupt but, “Will the sunscreen cause a problem on the cuts?” 

“No, they were minor and…” Jim trailed off once he looked over and then grinned at him, “Oh that’s adorable: he’s worse than I was.”

“Towels are for sitting on and drying off, not hiding behind.” Sebastian casually took the towel away. “It’s not like we haven’t seen it.”

“Sunscreen on Sebastian and then a bit of swimming and then we can soak.”

Mycroft somewhat reluctantly helped coat the sniper in sunscreen and then even more reluctantly ventured out of the shade–he didn’t have much choice.

“Its good sunscreen, Mycroft, you won’t cook THAT fast!”

Sebastian paused after removing his leash–leaving him the collar only, and it didn’t cover much– “You… You CAN swim?”

Jim stopped and turned, “Oh… I never thought to ask…”

“Yes,” Mycroft muttered. He glanced at the two of them, “I haven’t been swimming outdoors since… well since.”

“Since what?” Jim asked.

“He apparently got burned at the beach as a kid.” Sebastian shrugged. “Ok, look… you want to be covered? Won’t you feel better in the water then?”

Mycroft simply couldn’t make himself move.  It was bad enough in the house and worse in this corner under the shade but… that was… _naked, exposed, anyone could see him… hands and screams and yelling and laughing taunts._

He hadn’t realized he was hyperventilating until Sebastian was holding him snugly and making soothing noises.

“Holy shit…” Jim stared at him. “I have no idea if that’s satisfying or creepy.”

Mycroft  found himself moved forward by Sebastian as if he was a doll…the world took on an unreal  feeling, as if… as if… _well obviously this was a dream or something: I couldn’t possibly be nude and collared out in public with… no. a nightmare, certainly…_

 Jim watched in consternation as Mycroft was moved, taken into the pool and generally maneuvered as though he wasn’t conscious… but he kept his feet under him and there was still a hint of panic in the eyes.  The expression on Mycroft’s face was that same blankly disapproving look that Jim had seen when he was in interrogation sometimes…

“Sebastian?” Jim spoke quietly, “I don’t think he’s quite with us…”

“No, he isn’t.” Sebastian frowned and mouthed, ‘her?’ at Jim.

Jim frowned, “She did have a LOT longer to work him over…”

“I’m afraid to let go of him in the pool…”

Mycroft felt the world sharpen and realized he was standing chest deep in water, pressed up against Sebastian, with Jim treading water a bit and leaning on his shoulder…

“Ah, there you are…” Jim said pleasantly, “How often were you gone away like that when I thought you were going over your schedule or figuring out how many minutes rest I was going to get between shocks, hmm?”

Sebastian tensed and clenched his jaw, but tried to listen.

“Often enough to be of concern,” Mycroft admitted.  He could feel the tension in Sebastian’s arms holding him up.

“You phase out like that a lot, do you? It’s not obvious…”

Mycroft closed his eyes and tried to pretend he wasn’t… where he was, how he was. “It has always been an issue, but more frequently as… as I dealt with more stressful situations.  I used to be able to keep functioning through them, even if a bit slowed.”

“Huh.” Jim did something of a backflip into the water and swam for a bit before returning.

Sebastian slowly let go of Mycroft, “can you stand?”

“Yes.”  He forced himself not to try to move back into Sebastian’s arms; instead standing shivering with his arms wrapped around himself.

“You said you could swim?” Jim lazily floated by, kicking his feet just enough to move.

“Indoors, in a pool, in private…” Mycroft tried to close his eyes and imagine he was in a private gym… the smell of the beach and greenery and  sunscreen kept  proving that a lie. _Children taunting him and standing naked in the water unable to come out…_

Jim watched as Mycroft tightened his arms around himself and his shivering became more pronounced. “Sebie? Help me get him out…”

Sebastian hauled him out of the pool and Jim had him placed back under the shade–near the bar this time– “Go swim, Tiger.”

“You sure you’re safe?”

Jim just snorted and waved him off.  He grabbed Sebastian’s robe from the cupboard and draped it around Mycroft. “Seriously? You’re more messed up than I am and that’s SAYING something…”

Mycroft blinked twice as Jim Moriarty shoved a drink into his hand. “Why?”

“Because you were shivering and going back into your mind, which we have already discussed is not at all a pleasant place…”

“The stress seems to have… unlocked some things I usually don’t think about.” Mycroft said quietly. “And I am never nude in… in public.”

Jim wrapped his own robe around himself and sat down with his drink. “Sebie’s a nudist at heart–around water anyway,” Jim paused, “Well anytime he isn’t in leathers or out in public or working…”

Mycroft tried to clear his throat and had to sip at the tasty–and apparently flammable– drink a few times, “I despise it, and I’m frankly surprised you put up with it.”

Jim looked over at Sebastian swimming strongly, muscles on firm display, water showering off of his shoulders… “He’s surprisingly persuasive…”

Mycroft found himself a bit distracted watching and they sat there quietly until Sebastian got out of the pool and walked–nude and completely unconcerned– over to the bar and picked up his drink. “Everyone feeling better?” he glanced at Mycroft and pulled Jim into a passionate kiss…

That turned into a passionate embrace, and hands, and Sebastian pushing the robe back off of Jim’s shoulders…

Mycroft ended up once again frozen, watching as Sebastian worked his way down Jim’s body: desperately wanting to flee and certain that any motion would draw their attention.

He was just starting to wonder if they would, in fact, notice if he slipped away (And trying to hide his physical reactions under the robe) when Sebastian apparently decided to stop...

"You bastard!" Jim panted as Sebastian straightened up and took a gulp of his drink.

 "...is still not a safeword." Sebastian grinned, and then added; "besides...we have business to talk about."

"How you expect me to concentrate with an unfinished blow job..." Jim grumbled and narrowed his eyes. "You are totally paying for that tonight."

Mycroft couldn't help but look dubious, "I believe that may be what he wants..."

Sebastian just chuckled and abruptly draped an arm over Mycroft, "I call it giving him incentive...he calls it forgetting my place...whatever."

Jim grumpily sat back down in a chair. "Right...so...Mycroft apparently has been dissociating under some kinds of stress for some time, and by his own statements more often lately..." he looked curiously at Mycroft, "Why when I was in interrogation? I mean I have to admire the fact that I couldn't tell, but why?"

"...it..." Mycroft hesitated.

"We already decided we were either keeping you or killing you fast," Sebastian nodded at Jim who agreed. "And we already know too much"

"I never liked being in the interrogation facilities.” Mycroft said quietly. "They all...look the same."

Jim's eyes sharpened suddenly, "Do they all use the same paint...you said that..."

"Did I?"

"Yes." Jim's lips quirked up in that mischievous, or malevolent, expression that Mycroft distrusted so much. "Why Mycroft, you were interrogated?"

Mycroft pulled what shreds of dignity he had around himself, "I was on a field assignment when I was younger. It was...unpleasant.” he fixed Jim with his best glare, "You were handled very carefully"

"I had failsafes, darling, as you well know"

"I did not."

...

Sebastian was the first to break the silence, "well that could get messy fast."

"As I said, it was unpleasant."

"So coming down to interrogation, mine or anyone's, would end up with you being at best uncomfortable, and at worst dissociating?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and held the robe around him more tightly, "Usually. I had a few worse episodes when...it was already a stressful day, and the interrogation was..." 

Mycroft found himself pulled off the bar chair and onto a sort of oversized recliner, or reclined sofa, with Sebastian making soothing noises and petting him.

"What?"

Jim lay down next to them and curled into Sebastian's side. "You got spacey and started muttering."

Sebastian kept stroking and kneading at him. Mycroft wanted to find it annoying or frightening, but he found himself relaxing...

Jim snickered, "like I said, Sebie has a hell of a caretaker kink..."

"I wouldn't need care if I wasn't a prisoner." Mycroft tried to pull away, but Sebastian was very strong, and Jim just pushed him back into Sebastian’s arms.

"And if you weren't a prisoner you'd be dead-we didn’t set that up after all." Jim pulled one of Mycroft’s hands loose from where he was clutching his robe and started rubbing his hand gently and stroking his fingers, it was eerily sensual...and worrisome.

"Planning on cutting them off?" Mycroft asked warily.

"What? No!" Jim looked shocked. “We already said we’d just kill you if we didn’t keep you, and even if we were....being less pleasant I wouldn't want to damage one of your better features."

"Pardon?"

Sebastian stopped rubbing at his back and looked at his hand..."You do have very nice hands... Do all the Holmes have long fingers?"

"Yes, actually. More so with the men."

"Do you play violin too- like the other one?" Jim asked as he continued to stroke Mycroft’s fingers idly, it was having… effects… and Mycroft wished he would stop… but it felt lovely.

"No, ah, not violin: piano..."

"We have a piano in the house," Sebastian commented, “You should play; might make you feel better."

“I haven’t played in years…”

“LIVE a little, Mycroft!” Jim snorted.

Mycroft muttered, “I’m being held prisoner–”

“In a tropical paradise,” Jim interrupted, “By two devilishly good looking men, who think you’re interesting and intelligent–”

“-and sexy,” Sebastian added.

“-goes without saying.” Jim nodded, “And you’re away from your office finally and no one is trying to kill you… Just pretend it’s a vacation!”

“I don’t take vacations.” Mycroft grumbled, “They invariably lead to having to deal with stupid people in unsanitary conditions.”

Jim waved around, “Hey, my evil lair is VERY sanitary.”

“And we aren’t stupid,” Sebastian wrapped his arms around Mycroft  a bit more firmly and looked over his shoulder at Jim, “he admitted THAT on the plane–said I wasn’t stupid; I just wasn’t up to… well you lot.”

Jim smiled happily back, “Mycroft always was very observant.”

“And he only argued the vacation, not that we were devilishly good looking…”

“Well, apparently he was interested in me even back then…” Jim looked speculatively at Mycroft, “I sometimes thought so, but… you didn’t ACT like it, really…”

Mycroft considered lying for a moment, considered keeping silent for a moment longer, and then sighed, “I always found you attractive: but I rather expected it was like finding a poisonous snake attractive–look but don’t touch.”

Jim ran a tongue across his teeth, “Mycroft you flatterer…”

“Just out of curiosity, Mycroft,” Sebastian’s voice rumbled in his ear.

“You are an exceptional physical specimen and… you aren’t stupid.  That puts you in rather rarified company.” Mycroft cleared his throat and tried once again to get his body to behave.

Jim released Mycroft’s hand–finally, unfortunately–and settled back a bit, “So that’s a VERY interesting topic to pick up for later…” Jim shifted his posture and expression and was all business–or as all business as you can be when all three of them were lying together on a recliner by the pool, “we came out to discuss the fact that  your coworkers are trying to get you killed”

“Some of them.”

“And the other one apparently started acting more directly…”

“Perhaps to be precise: she permitted her actions to be seen–to some extent.”

“I do hope you understand that I’ve been staying as clear of England as was possible…” Jim paused and Mycroft nodded slowly, “So how about you fill us both in.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft briefs Sebastian and Jim... and there is the beginning of a discussion of what they want out of Mycroft.  
> i suppose you could call it consent negotiations, given that not one of these people is a good example.

“While I assume you are aware of some of this, the… background is relevant, and it has been some time.” Mycroft very reluctantly began.

Jim was just listening intently, so Sebastian pulled them both in close and started running his hands idly down both of their backs.

“Errr… well… as you know, Sherlock faked his death…”

“Mm- Hmm.” Jim nodded, “Nice job of it too. Then Sherlock went running off all over the place–some of it had to do with my old business contacts, but a lot didn’t.”

“Yes… well… sometimes it was difficult to tell what was your business and what wasn’t… and… there was a great deal of pressure on me to get some benefit from expending that many resources in his disappearance and in the clean-up.”

“What?” Sebastian rolled his head to raise an eyebrow questioningly at Jim.

“He means the code name brigade wanted to sic Sherly on some of their problems as payment.”

“Yes, basically.” Mycroft muttered.

“Is that how he ended up in Serbia of all places?” Jim asked.

Mycroft jerked, “How do you know about THAT?  That… we had determined it wasn’t your operation…”

“Oh, not MINE, no… but I have ears and eyes in all sorts of places.” Jim reached across Sebastian and drew a finger down Mycroft’s arm over the robe and then down Mycroft’s hand, “That was you got him out, wasn’t it? I got a report about it all after the fact…”

“Yes… by the time I could have gotten an official response it would have been too late.” Mycroft shivered and pulled his hand away, “He was badly hurt… and… I was lucky to get him out in time.”

“… and all the interrogation facilities look alike…” Jim said in a distant sort of voice, “I wonder…”

“What do you mean…” Mycroft drew in a breath, _No, no. no, she wouldn’t have, she couldn’t have…_ “You think she arranged it?”

“It wouldn’t take much.” Jim pointed out, “Nudge one of her pets in intelligence to point him at the right spot, send some information to the target so he gets caught…I could have done it from here if I was keeping up on England at the time. Tell me, did she have anything to do with you finding out?”

“We lost contact with him, I… I asked her for her analysis…” Mycroft felt ill.

Sebastian sighed, “So how close to your history was what you walked into?”

“Close enough to be… very difficult.” Mycroft admitted. “Not identical.”

“She wouldn’t be able to arrange things in full detail in Serbia,” Jim was considering, “But… it wouldn’t have to be–all it needs to be is close enough, and bad, and for you have to go yourself…”

Mycroft shivered– _cold, hurting, desperate not to let them know what they had_ – and then the bare skin against his made him bite his lip.

Sebastian frowned, “Mycroft?”

“My… apologies… talking about it…”

Jim nodded and moved on, “So Sherly got hurt, and you rescued him, and he pops back up in London… Go on.”

“Watson had gotten involved… with someone I did not check into enough,” Mycroft gratefully accepted Sebastian pulling the robe around him more snugly. “It seemed good for him… It did not go well when Sherlock showed up.” Mycroft sighed, “He was hurting, and on pain medication, and just wanted to go find his friend…”

 _My fault, I should have…_ Mycroft shook his head, “Details later, but… then Magnussen–”

“Mags?” Jim sat up and looked delighted, “Oh is THIS where he comes into this?”

“You… of course you would have known him.” Mycroft brought his hand up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Someday if you are VERY good I’ll give you the details, but suffice it to say I won’t miss him in the slightest.” Jim wriggled up against Sebastian and Sebastian made a noise like a purr or a growl.

“Magnussen… was blackmailing Lady Smallwood… among others.”

“Her? what on earth does she ha… oh... her husband?”

“How do you know about that?”

Jim waved his hand, “Focus, Mycroft… so Mags was blackmailing her... and a few others…”

“I tried to warn Sherlock away from the situation, and failed.”

“Welcome to the group,” Jim snickered, “He doesn’t take it well–certainly didn’t from me… so HE went after Mags?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess, John shot him?”

“No… Sherlock did.”

Jim’s mouth fell open. “SHERLOCK?!”

“Yes, and… it was extremely difficult to cover up.  I had to use up a number of–”

“Hold it…” Jim held a hand up, “Sherly…shot Mags…is there video of this? Please tell me there is…”

Mycroft’s temper flared, “YES, he shot him, in what a jury would call cold blood, and yes, there is in fact video–we spent a great deal of effort doctoring it.”

Jim wrapped his arms around himself and shivered happily. “I knew Mags would push the wrong person one day… why? Why did he shoot him?”

“He was blackmailing Watson’s fiancé, and trying to leverage Sherlock against me as well.”

“What had she done?” Sebastian asked, “You said you hadn’t looked into her…”

“Her identity was false–very well done, mind you: she turned out to be part of a group called AGRA, and–”

“ROSAMUND?!” Sebastian sputtered and Jim howled.

“John-fuzzyjumpers-Watson got involved with ROSAMUND?!” Jim screeched.

“Rose got involved with WATSON?” Sebastian sounded stunned.

Mycroft’s headache started making itself known in earnest. “Do I take it you also had dealings with her?”

“Duh.” Jim snorted, “Mary Morstan–I paid her for a job with that identity: I would bloody well hope it held up, but she was never supposed to come under your direct scrutiny.”

Mycroft once again felt data slot into place and he groaned and buried his head into the cushions–and Sebastian. “He married her, in fact, and… she died recently.”

Jim looked dubious, “did you see the–”

“Yes, she was shot and killed saving Sherlock’s life.” Mycroft knew he should  pull away, but Sebastian’s arm around him was some comfort, and the poolside light–even in the shade– was terribly bright.

“… We are talking about Rose, right?” Jim said slowly, “Crack shot with a pistol, decent knife girl, good nurse, blonde… tattoo…”

“Yes.”

“…can’t picture it.”

Sebastian shrugged, muscles ripping against  Mycroft in a distracting fashion, “I doubt most of my old contacts would believe I fell in love.” He shook his head, “Gotta admit though the ‘died saving someone else’ sounds odd.”

“I believe she felt she owed him a great debt.”

Sebastian nodded, “THAT might do it–she had a strange sort of ethics, but she did have some.”

“Married… Watson…” Jim was shaking his head. “We’re getting ahead here, though… aren’t we.”

“Yes.” Mycroft nodded and reluctantly tried to sit back up, “Sherlock shot Magnussen and I had to burn a number of favors to get it covered up.  Sherlock was sent… on a suicide mission, basically.  The idea being that if he survived…”

“So… that’s when she used my picture, hmm?” Jim grinned, “He’d have to come back.”

“I… yes.” Mycroft sighed, the takeover of the media had been worldwide news. “Several other incidents happened–I have no idea how much they relate…”

“Let me be the judge of it, Mycroft.” Jim shrugged.

Mycroft had been finding it easier and easier to talk, almost a relief after the years of secrecy… he explained about Mary, and John… about the wedding, and Culverton, and John’s increasing distance and anger, his abuse of Sherlock… and about his own temptation to have an ‘accident’ befall Watson before he could hurt Sherlock again…

“Now, of course, I believe that a great deal of that was… Euros.” Mycroft sighed, “She had interacted with him several times, as well as impersonating Culverton’s daughter to Sherlock.”

Sebastian tilted his head and said, “He had anger issues from way back… from what Jim told me, it wouldn’t take too much for her to… push that.”

Jim shrugged, “Probably? And the nastiest violence is personal…”

“Eventually… Euros began playing directly.” Mycroft didn’t even try to look up anymore, “She lured us in… and began playing very lethal games–including trying to force Sherlock to choose to shoot me, or Watson.”

Jim cocked his head, “Since you specified all alive and well… how’d he get past that one?”

“Threatened to shoot himself–he was quite serious.”

“And John got thrown in the well somewhere in here?”

“Yes. He was rescued in time–just.”

Jim hesitated and Sebastian sighed and asked, “Molly got dragged into it; is she alright?”

“I believe so, although it… seems to have damaged her relationship with Sherlock.”

Jim was grumbling dangerously and Mycroft started watching him more cautiously. “In the aftermath… Our parents found out Euros was alive, and that Uncle Rudy and I had concealed that fact… and John and Sherlock both… well…they won’t be looking for me.” Mycroft forced his voice to steady, “In any event my status and authority took a great deal of damage. I had to take the assignment I was on–my position was too precarious.”

“And a few of your cohort decided to get rid of you.” Jim nodded, “Sensible, neat…lose your body in a pile of bodies.”

“I am afraid so.”

“She was likely behind at least some of it.” Jim nodded, “She’s done with you, and now she has Sherlock and your parents visiting… you get the blame and she can leverage that…”

“You… believe she was encouraging my loss of status?”

“I think she’s been encouraging that, AND encouraging the family to cut you off.” Jim nodded. “Doesn’t mean she might not have changed her mind if you hadn’t been killed,” Jim flashed a rather manic grin, “She’s changeable too.”

“She went from wanting Sherlock to suffer and die, for some reason, to making some sort of outreach to him…” Mycroft sighed, “I thought I understood how to handle her… but…”

Sebastian growled, “I understand how to handle her.”

“Sebie…” Jim’s voice held a bit of a warning, “Let’s get all the facts… I already said I MIGHT let you shoot her, but… I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“So… that… is the broad outline of what has gone on with Sherlock,” Mycroft looked at them both tiredly, “What else did you want from me?”

“Oh, well at first I wanted to shatter you to bits and then skin you and turn you into a vest,” Jim said thoughtfully, “But… as I said to Sebastian, there aren’t many of us and it would be a waste… and… you are surprisingly interesting when you aren’t covered in ice.”

Mycroft tried to school his reactions: Moriarty could, and would, skin him and make him into a vest if it took his fancy.

“We already said we were either keeping you or killing you quickly, Mycroft.” Sebastian then got a rather predatory smile, “And as Jim said… you’re interesting.”

“Of course you think so, Sebie, he likes being hand fed.”

“He looked pretty fascinated at your rope work, Jim… and I didn’t notice him cowering away from the knife play…”

Jim considered, “but he does react poorly to people behind him….”

Mycroft retorted immediately, “I react poorly to being a prisoner, and to being forced.”

“Actually… no you don’t.” Jim spoke slowly and Mycroft realized his mistake. “You react…” Jim smiled, “Rather like someone who desperately needs someone else to run things for a while…” he reached over and stroked down Mycroft’s side under Sebastian’s arms, “And like you’re desperately touch starved…”

“He doesn’t take off his suits, much.” Sebastian nodded,

“Most people are upset by the scars.” Mycroft rather firmly tried to deflect things away from sex.

“Lucky you, Mycroft,” Jim’s voice was dark and seductive, “I adore scars…”

“Scars are just tattoos with better stories.” Sebastian said firmly. “I’m covered in them, after all.”

“Yes… and I saw some of how you got them.” Mycroft was saying and then Sebastian pulled him up to his feet.

“Yes, well…We didn’t get much swimming, and we didn’t get a soak in the hot tub, but I’m NOT missing a meal.”

Jim laughed, “Oh heavens, Tiger, anything but that.”

“We can discuss your limits after we eat.” Sebastian nodded and started walking him back into the house.

Mycroft blinked several times, “I didn’t think I had any say in the matter?”

“Of course you do, Mycroft, we aren’t barbarians!” Jim snorted, “We decided to keep you, after all, not torture you.” Jim’s eyes locked on Mycroft intently, “well, not that way–you’ll enjoy it.”

 _Breathe in, two, out, three, stay calm, show nothing._ “… and if I said I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Sebastian laughed and spun Mycroft around until he was pressed skin to skin, chest to chest with the man –Jim leaned over Sebastian’s back and looked at Mycroft with an amused smile.

“Well, Mycroft,” Sebastian rumbled low in his throat, and then forced his head back and kissed and bit his throat, “We’d just… have to… tie you up and… keep ourselves occupied.”

Jim snickered, “Assuming we listened to you; how long do you think it would be before you… rescinded that limit, Mycroft?” he nipped Sebastian’s ear and then walked around them both, trailing his hand over first Sebastian shoulders and then Mycroft’s neck.  He pressed up against Mycroft’s back–Mycroft thanked god the robe was covering at least  his back–“You had a brief taste of what we can do…” Jim’s voice was the dark temptation and Mycroft remembered what he’d seen… what he’d imagined…

Sebastian pulled back and let go of him.  Mycroft almost staggered and when he looked up the two of them were kissing each other; Jim pulled back and licked his lips, “However would we occupy ourselves Tiger?”

“I can think of a few ways,” Sebastian smirked, and then reached out and snagged Mycroft’s wrist, “of course…I think Mycroft would prefer to be involved, rather than sleeping on the chair every night…”

Jim laughed, “You weren’t all here for the last time you got a blow job, Mycroft, but…” he leaned against Sebastian while his fingers traced down Mycroft’s chest, “I bet you can still feel it, so I suggest you consider your position over dinner.”

Mycroft quietly followed them in to get dressed for a meal…

Cursing the fact that his body apparently remembered it very, very well.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> discussions and terms.  
> TW threats and suicidal ideation

Mycroft once again found himself surprised by being allowed clothing for dinner–not pajamas this time, even if somewhat more casual than he might like. He would definitely have preferred if Moriarty hadn’t been insistent on putting most of it ON him, but apparently that was the price to pay for actual clothing–he didn’t do anything untoward, but his… avid expression was a bit unnerving.

“Jim insists on dressing properly for meals.” Sebastian commented.

Jim immediately added, “Just as Sebastian insists on nudity in some circumstances.”

Sebastian rather exaggerated stuck his tongue out at Jim and continued, “And we had ordered some clothing in your size.” He finished pulling on his jacket and addressed Moriarty, “we will need to get him more clothing, you know…”

Jim sighed, “True.  But honestly he looked so STUFFY in his three pieces…”

“My suits were not stuffy.”

“They most certainly were.”

“I had casual hunt patterns done up to my specifications in a formal three piece–it wasn’t stuffy.” Mycroft muttered.

“Why a three piece?” Sebastian asked thoughtfully. “You seem touchy about the scars but… you don’t need a vest for that.”

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes, “The vest was because I like pocket watches.”

Jim stared at him, “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“That’s IT?!” Jim looked incredulous.

Mycroft frowned, “pocket watches look best with a vest pocket”

“I was trying to figure out the whole psychology behind you always wearing a vest and it’s because you like POCKET  WATCHES?!”

“Is that so difficult to believe?” Mycroft and Jim were shepherded into the dining room by Sebastian as he commented.

“I thought it was something more complicated.” Jim grumbled.

“No, although…” Mycroft was once again relieved that he was sitting at the table, instead of other options–this time unfettered if still collared. “I admit that more clothing is… comforting.”

“Pressure.” Sebastian said calmly as he poured the wine. “It’s comforting for a lot of folks–I tried getting Jim a weighted blanket but he stabbed it.”

Jim muttered something that sounded a great deal like “It started it.”

A servant of some kind came in with the first course. Mycroft couldn’t help but analyze him as he put the plates down– _very deferential to those two, puzzled that I am seated at the table, trained in knife, pistol and unarmed combat, not military though_ …

“He’s worked for me since… oh hell, years before I left England anyway.” Jim commented.

“I didn’t get a very good look at anyone else…”

“One of the few people who came from my old life to the new one over here.” Jim shrugged, “like I’ll let a good chef go?”

Mycroft took a taste of the soup… and stopped thinking about anything else.

“I think he sympathizes with you about the chef, Jim,” Sebastian laughed. “I appreciate the food, but I prefer to watch you two enjoy it…”

Mycroft refused to let the man distract him from the soup… or the incredibly tender chicken with fruit glaze that followed it.

“Sebie? Shall we take dessert in private?” Jim grinned wickedly at Sebastian when he was certain Mycroft wasn’t looking.

“Oh certainly, we have so much to discuss…” Sebastian managed to keep a poker face, but Mycroft looked up suspiciously.

Jim vanished into the kitchen and came back with a covered tray… and walked away toward the bedroom.

Mycroft was rather reluctantly escorted by an intent looking Sebastian.

“I don’t think–”

“Oh you think plenty, Mycroft,” Jim was back to his usual smirk, “but right now?  You can just settle yourself over there… assuming you don’t want any dessert.”

Mycroft sighed, “Contrary to my brother’s assertions I am not ruled by a desire for sweets.”

Sebastian walked over and tugged on his shirt, “Off. No one stays fully dressed in the bedroom.”

“Since I have no intention of–”

Sebastian smiled politely, “Take it off, and you have a set of clothes in your size until the new order arrives… or I can have Jim cut it off–he loves that.”

“True, I do.” Jim said as he was getting undressed and hanging his things. “I would REALLY love to cut one of your suits off–the scrubs were nice, but not really satisfying, you know?”

Mycroft calculated and reluctantly concluded that keeping a set of clothes available won out over his discomfort at the moment… and Jim was quite serious: he stripped as quickly and quietly as he could manage.

“You really need to get over your body modesty, Mycroft.” Jim then frowned and started rearranging a drawer.

“Oh you have GOT to be kidding…” Sebastian snorted, “Mister ‘my clothes are part of my role’ is lecturing about body modesty?”

“I’m not as hung up on scars and so on as he is–I simply gut anyone who can’t be civil.” Jim sniffed, and then waved at the drawer, “I cleared this one out for you until we can get a wardrobe set up.”

Mycroft dubiously put his clothes away and turned to find Sebastian feeding bits of ice-cream and some kind of warm smelling caramel cookie to Jim…

Jim licked a drop of caramel off his lip, “Sebie loves feeding people…and other things… I like being pampered.”

“It looks sticky.” Mycroft tried to tell himself it didn’t also look quite tasty.

“Oh it IS…” Sebastian grinned, “But I usually lick it off…”

Jim burst into a fit of giggles, “Oh… oh God your FACE…” and ended up burying his face in the pillows laughing.

Sebastian stalked over in an alarmingly predatory fashion, and his voice was back into that purring growl… “So, you read me pretty easily in the plane… you should be able to tell what I want.”

Mycroft found himself unable to NOT analyze the situation, and the man in front of him–a problem he shared with Sherlock. _Sexual hunger, aggression–sublimated into sex play, but very near the surface, dominance that didn’t get enough outlet_ –Mycroft shivered.

“Oh Sebastian is quite the Tiger, in and out of bed,” Jim sat back against the pillows and licked his spoon, “But since I know Sebie prefers his partners willing and enthusiastic…”

“As opposed to you?” Mycroft was desperately wishing for any covering at all.

“Oh…” Jim smiled that overly broad smile that showed he was more than slightly mad at times, “why don’t you look for yourself, Mycroft?” 

 _Violence, hate/attraction/fascination,  fear? Wanting to hurt, sympathy… Masks on masks on masks_ … Mycroft shook his head as Sebastian steered him to the bed, “I could never tell what was genuine and what was an act with you.”

“Everything and nothing, Mycroft, everything and nothing.”

Sebastian  got a spoonful of an almost sinfully gooey cookie and a bit of ice-cream and  held it out at him.

“I… don’t think this is a good idea.” Mycroft finally managed to say.

“That isn’t even a believable no, Mycroft,” Jim smirked. “Try pretending you’re just playing along until you can escape if it makes you feel better…”

“I have no place to escape to…” Mycroft said quietly as the weight of his situation once again threatened to undo his composure.

Sebastian put the spoon down and pulled him onto the bed properly and looked puzzled at Jim, “Sir?”

“Oh he’s putting on a good front, Sebie, but he’s all over little cracks,” Jim picked up the spoonful of dessert and licked it clean, “It’s so utterly fascinating…”

“I’m certain you find it so.” Mycroft couldn’t even bring himself to be upset about it.

“After all the work you put in to trying to find the chinks in my armor?” Jim laughed, “Oh honey… what I find ironic as hell about this entire thing is that you’re taking yourself apart better than I ever could.”

Mycroft tried to find a retort and couldn’t bring himself to bother.

~

Sebastian watched in some astonishment as Mycroft went… well not away, but passive? He reached out and wiped a tear away from the corner of Mycroft’s eyes with his thumb.

“Handcuff him to the bed if you want to keep him, Sebie.” Jim waved at the good restraints.

Mycroft just looked dully at them as Sebastian handcuffed him to the bed.

“Sir?” Sebastian frowned and looked over at Jim to find Jim looking intent and… he had that amused look on his face that could mean anything–except simply being amused.

“Go put the dessert away for later Sebie, Mycroft and I need to talk.”

After checking his restraints, Sebastian did– he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d find when he got back.

~

Jim crawled on top of him and looked down. “I really am torn, Mycroft, between watching you take yourself apart… and putting you back together.”

“I had the impression you were more inclined to taking things apart.” Mycroft’s voice was dull and tired.

“Not really: I build things–crimes, new identities, me…”

Mycroft stared up into frighteningly intent dark eyes and couldn’t bring himself to care. “So now what?”

“I do so very, very much want to hurt you, but…” Jim smiled broadly and leaned down heavily on him, “We’re going to make a deal, Mycroft.”

“Are we? Why should I?” there was no bravado in it, just curiosity and a sort of resignation.

“Because I hate losing worse than almost anything, and beating your dear sister means keeping her from killing you–or breaking you too badly.”

Mycroft just looked up at him, “I don’t think you have anything to offer me in this.”

“Oh certainly I do, or rather we do.” He drew a finger across one of the scars on Mycroft’s chest, “So very, very tightly wound… but you enjoyed it, and you enjoyed watching us…”

Jim’s hand suddenly moved up to Mycroft’s throat just above the collar. “You don’t have to play with us, Mycroft–Sebie, as I said, would prefer you willing– but you are going to fight that bitch, AND behave yourself as my present, which means no leaving unless I let you.”

“You certainly have things you want… I’m not sure I understand why, but you want them: why do you expect me to agree?”

“Because you CARE, Iceman; I’ve always known that–maybe only about one thing, but Sherlock matters to you.”

Mycroft went very still, “You know he does.  Leave him–”

“If you let yourself die, Mycroft… if you let that bitch win and take my present away?  I’ll have Sherlock here to replace you within days.” Jim lowered his voice to a hiss.

“You couldn’t keep him–he has far more to return to than I do…” Mycroft  forced the words out but his mind was already seeing hundreds of options…

Moriarty, of course, chose the worst one to threaten him with. “Maybe I’ll kidnap his friend John, or maybe I’ll just shoot him up full of heroin until he doesn’t care anymore–both is always an option–but If you die, Iceman? I will take him APART.”

They stared at each other and Mycroft could see it: no matter what he thought of, even up to killing the man somehow, Moriarty would be able to find a way to counter it: he had before, and right now Mycroft had far fewer resources.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax under the hand on his throat, “You win.”

“I always do, Mycroft.” Jim was still nearly nose to nose with him, but his hand relaxed slightly on Mycroft’s throat. “Now you have an incentive to stay alive and cooperate, but I’m a firm believer in the carrot as well as the stick, so first thing tomorrow you can start working with me on getting her hooks out of your brother, because otherwise she’ll break him soon enough–as you said, she breaks her toys–and we can’t have that…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JIm is, as Mycroft has noted several times, almost impossible to read. so the reasoning behind his threats, (and whether he would do it) are always a question...


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> picking up the pieces, again.  
> (TW: food play, food issues, past abuse)

Sebastian was dithering, having put the dessert away, when Jim walked in. _At least he didn’t have any blood on him; that was a plus._

“Is everything–”

“I have some things to do before I can come to bed,” Jim looked him over and smiled faintly, “Go put the pieces back together–you’re much better at that than I am.”

Sebastian looked Jim over, “How many pieces and what kind? Do I take him dessert or bandages?”

“Dessert, probably, although I don’t think he has much appetite. I also don’t think you’ll get him interested in sex tonight… but he does seem touch starved as fuck.”

“Worse than you?” Sebastian smiled and ran his hand down Jim’s cheek.

Jim leaned into it for a moment. “Way worse.” Jim made a shoo-ing gesture and walked out.

Sebastian got some of the less temperature sensitive treats out and went back to the bedroom.

Mycroft was still handcuffed to the headboard, but he was curled into the pillow as hard as he could be–amazing how small a six foot tall man could be.

“Mycroft?  I have no idea what Jim did, but he’s gone for a few…”

“Can you at least uncuff my hands?” Mycroft’s voice was shaky, as far as he could tell from the pillow muffling it.

Sebastian unlocked the cuffs and pulled the man in tight, wrapping blankets and his arms around him. “You’re holding up pretty well, you know that?” Sebastian said quietly.

“No… no I’m not.”

“Well… maybe I have a bit more experience at how normal people react to stuff.”

“I can’t kill myself.”

Sebastian blinked, “well…. I mean you can, but you shouldn’t… it’s probably just  that bitch messing with your head?  I mean… I know you don’t like being here, but we really aren’t THAT bad…” he considered, “Jim kind of likes you after all.”

“No, I mean he threatened Sherlock if… if I… ‘if you let that bitch win and take my present away’.”  Mycroft shivered violently and then looked up.  As always Sebastian was stunned by how much force of intellect and power could be behind a pair of eyes. “I… I will do anything you want, just don’t let–”

“Woah!” Sebastian pulled one arm up and brushed his thumb over the man’s cheekbones–not as defined as his brother’s but quite nice– “No wonder he told me to go take care of you… alright, he said he would hurt Sherlock if… you killed yourself?”

“Let myself die.” Mycroft corrected rather absently.

Sebastian nodded, “Anything else?”

“Behave myself as his present and don’t try to leave.” Mycroft parroted, and then “I think he meant …leave… not run, but probably both.”

“Empty bodies in the medical bed aren’t interesting.” Sebastian commented idly as he was slowly running one hand down Mycroft’s back. “Do you want a Jim translation guide?”

“Do I need one?”

“Apparently. You said you would do whatever I wanted as long as I didn’t hurt Sherlock, right?”

Mycroft shivered and swallowed, “Yes.”

“Nowhere in what Jim said–nowhere in what he would say– was having to have sex with us.” Sebastian kept his voice soft, but firm. “Right? Come on, try to think…” Mycroft’s shivering had subsided and he was lying fairly limply against Sebastian’s chest–which felt really nice actually.

Mycroft took a deep breath.  “You don’t have to play with us, Mycroft–Sebie, as I said, would prefer you willing– but you are going to fight that bitch, AND behave yourself as my present, which means no leaving unless I let you.” Mycroft repeated Jim’s words into Sebastian’s shoulder quietly.

“Misses all the menace doesn’t it? I never did quite get how he could manage to sound cheerful and menacing at the same time.” Sebastian once again tilted Mycroft’s head back to face him. “You DO NOT need to do anything except behave and stay alive–you can certainly choose to…”Sebastian couldn’t help the predatory look over the man, or the smile, “But it’s not a requirement.”

~

Despite everything Mycroft believed him. “Would you keep him from hurting Sherlock if I did?”

“First of all he isn’t going to hurt Sherlock as long as you keep your part of the deal, right?” 

Mycroft tried to consider, “I don’t know: I know he WILL if I don’t.”

“I don’t think he’ll do anything bad to him as long as you behave–and no, I wouldn’t take the bargain you’re offering because I have no interest in having you like that…I’m a lot of things but I’m not a rapist.”

“It wouldn’t be rape, more like prostitution.” Mycroft was trying very hard not to take comfort in the man, but… it was comforting anyway.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’ve done worse to stay alive.” Mycroft said very quietly.

“Yeah? You think that wasn’t bloody obvious?” Sebastian snorted. “You were tortured; rape was part of that. I have no idea if you were raped or abused under other circumstances but I assume so from your reaction to swimming outside…”

“Beaten and forced into the water until I burned and blistered–because I was a ginger, and not local.” Mycroft more or less collapsed onto the man and he wrapped both arms around him.   _and Damn it, it was very comforting._

“Oh… I’m sorry, Mycroft,” Sebastian’s voice was quite sincere, but Mycroft didn’t bother to raise his head–his shoulder was surprisingly comfortable. “If I had known… that definitely wasn’t supposed to be any kind of punishment–Jim loves to swim, and so do I.”

“I don’t enjoy it, but I do know how–I did a lot of my physical therapy in a pool.  Just… always indoors…usually in private with therapists.”

“Did you ever get any therapy for that? Or for the torture and abuse? No, what am I saying,”  he sighed, “either you never did get any, or it was useless because you ran rings around them.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh bitterly, “Both… I had a number of bad incidents in my youth, and no I never got therapy–uncle Rudy mostly told me to–” he flinched as he remembered Uncle Rudy’s disappointed tones. “I had mandated therapy for the mission–they were idiots.”

“Jim never got any–various reasons–later when things happened it was security reasons:  you can’t show any weakness, after all.”

“I think Jim needs chemical intervention: he may need therapy as well.” Mycroft immediately froze, certain that the man would become upset.

Sebastian didn’t get angry though; he just kept rocking him slightly and rubbing his back. After a while Sebastian started talking quietly, “Jim’s business is his business, but… while I won’t say you’re wrong about him probably having a chronic medical issue–the whole needing medication part,” Sebastian’s hand paused and then started rubbing little circles in Mycroft’s back. “Actually you are probably right: I’d bet good money on him being bi-polar.”

“You are saying more of his issues are… environmental?”  Mycroft felt on safer ground talking about analysis.

“Yeah. He trusted me with a few things form his background and… I began to understand why he didn’t react that badly to you picking him up and interrogating him–he’d been through so much worse.”

Mycroft sighed, “I… as you heard, I didn’t go down there unless I had to–mostly to try to read the man, or when he refused to talk to anyone but me.”

“Hmm?”

Mycroft could see he didn’t quite get it, “I went over the… the reports after the fact–when he began to go after Sherlock in earnest and after his death: I may have been in charge of his case, but I was… I don’t RUN the interrogations.”

Sebastian cocked his head and slowly moved them both until they were lying down and he was looking at Mycroft’s face intently, “What do you mean?”

“I am, in fact, responsible for anything that happened to him–since it was under my authority– but I was only personally aware of… oh, probably less than half of it.  I never directly oversaw interrogations, because I would…”

“…have flashbacks and dissociate.” Sebastian whispered and he was looking off at nothing.

“Sometimes,” Mycroft admitted. “There is also the fact that his case was intensely personal and I was… I might have done something rash. Jim is quite right to hold me responsible, but…I wasn’t directing it, or even always aware of anything once my orders were passed on.  We did have to handle him with extreme care–”

“Because of the failsafes.”

“And other reasons.” Mycroft closed his eyes slowly.

“Mycroft… Mycroft look at me.” Mycroft opened his eyes. “It’s taken me a bit but… you were… you needed help, and support–probably a lot–during your life and you never got it.  All of Jim’s jokes aside I don’t normally even like people, but I love Jim, and I’ve gotten rather fond of you.  You don’t have to do ANYTHING with us, except be reasonably civil, and well... not die, not leave.”

Sebastian moved forward and kissed him and Mycroft tried to pretend it wasn’t welcome, tried to… but he moaned and his mouth opened and his arms weren’t restrained this time…

Sebastian moved his mouth over and nipped at his ear gently, “For the first time in your LIFE Mycroft, your only responsibilities are to heal, and behave yourself.  You don’t have to run anything, you don’t have to pretend you don’t care, it doesn’t matter who sees you…and whatever you’ve been through?  If you want to talk about it… Jim is a surprisingly good listener when he wants to be, and has probably been through something similar.” 

Mycroft tried to say something but Sebastian just squeezed him gently, “No… you just listen for a minute. My main response to people hurting is to feed them, or hold them, or have sex–it’s a limited response set, but it works pretty well.” He chuckled. “Other than that I tend to try to find the problem and shoot it–Jim stabs it.”

Mycroft couldn’t help the retort, “Like weighted blankets?”

Sebastian laughed, “Yeah, that was… more excitement than I wanted to deal with… I woke up with Jim stabbing the blanket–and almost himself– and those weighted pellets going everywhere and I had NO idea what happened.”

“I told you,” Jim’s voice from very nearby, “It started it.”

~  
He’d come in quietly after a few bits of business: sure enough Sebastian–the big softie– was cuddled up with Mycroft, who was snuggled into him… it was adorable enough to set his teeth on edge. Sebie was talking quietly into Mycroft’s ear–facing away  and looking down at Mycroft so he didn’t see him, and Mycroft had his head down.

Jim walked up closer, curious.

Sebastian was saying: “My main response to people hurting is to feed them, or hold them, or have sex–it’s a limited response set, but it works pretty well.”

 _Yeah, it does_. Jim couldn’t help but smile– _sociopath my ass._

“Other than that I tend to try to find the problem and shoot it–Jim stabs it.”

Mycroft sounded calm enough when he said, “Like weighted blankets?”

Sebastian laughed and Jim could picture his eyes crinkling up, “Yeah, that was… more excitement than I wanted to deal with… I woke up with Jim stabbing the blanket–and almost himself– and those weighted pellets going everywhere and I had NO idea what happened.”

“I told you: It started it.” Jim smirked a bit as they both jerked–he snuck up on Sebastian often enough but to surprise BOTH of them?

Jim sat down on the bed and ran his hand over Sebastian’s back. “There is  a plate of  something chocolate sitting untouched next to the bed–is everything alright?”

“Mmm.” Sebastian predictably rolled onto his back–Mycroft’s eyes guarded and tired coming into view–and reached an arm around Jim. “C’mere.”

Jim sighed and settled into Sebastian’s side. “Did you two have a nice chat? And no Mycroft I don’t care if he tells me what you talked about.”

“If I had known he had a specific trauma associated with outdoors, water, and swimming I would have done things differently.” Sebastian leaned down and kissed Jim on top of his head.

“Eh, kind of figured that from the reaction, but… yeah it would have been better to know that in advance.” Jim kept his eyes off on the far wall and the truly over valued painting he’d stolen. “Probably about the same as you finding out a few of my triggers.”

“Probably.”

Mycroft hesitated and then said, “I should like to know if I am likely to trip over any more–since your reactions tend to be fast and… sharp.”

“Probably.” Jim considered, “I hate the painting, Sebastian, it was obviously over valued and we should sell it.”

“Sell the painting. Right.” Sebie sighed, “You wouldn’t let me sell it before.”

“Well now I think it’s overvalued.”

Mycroft chuckled, “It’s also a fake.”

Mycroft, for just that moment had sounded rather more lively, and Jim slowly rolled over and peered across Sebastian’s chest dubiously, “What do you mean fake? I stole it–had it stolen– right off the man’s wall!”

“Yes, I know, I recognize it.” Mycroft nodded, “HE stole it from a private collection a few years ago… except we had already replaced it with a very good forgery.”

Jim stared at him and then looked back at the painting, “Seriously? But he… ah, he never knew it was a fake?”

“As far as I know? He never found out.”

“Damn good fake.” Jim muttered.

“Oh yes, a very good fake… but if you try to sell it the… the watch list and so on will be very high, and it’s very likely to be independently evaluated…”

“Nah, I’ll just sell it to another crook–oooh, or sell it back to him!”

“So… are you two now art buddies or something?” Sebastian sounded puzzled and Jim looked up into that confused Labrador look of his and laughed.

“I doubt it.” Mycroft sighed.

“So I came in on Sebie explaining his responses to trauma…and don’t knock it, they work.” Jim reached over and snagged one of the little chocolate things and put it down on Sebastian’s chest. “I’m terribly traumatized, Tiger.”

“You’re a chocoholic is what you are.” Sebastian untangled an arm and started feeding Jim little bites. 

Jim watched Mycroft’s eyes and when he finished he grabbed another one and licked his lips, “Mycroft’s turn.”

“I…”

Sebastian made a “tsk” noise, “Mycroft? If you would LIKE the chocolate, say so… if you REALLY don’t want it, say so.”

“It’s very bad for me.”

Jim snorted, “Are you diabetic? Allergic? If not how bad for you can one chocolate be?”

“I used to be rather much heavier and… I have issues with my diet.”

Sebastian was still holding the chocolate and looking thoughtful, “I can feed you a nice savory something? Not sweet?”

Mycroft blinked a lot.

Jim’s mind was working and he watched the way Mycroft’s eyes tracked the food… “Mycroft? Did SHE talk to you about your diet?”

“… yes, so did Uncle Rudy, and… everyone really. My lack of discipline was… a constant topic.”

“How often do you have sweets normally?”

“I try not to.”

Jim leaned over Sebastian’s chest, “How often.  How often after you meet with HER, how often when you haven’t seen her in a while, how often after you see other significant people–does it change?”

Sebastian was looking back and forth in some alarm but kept quiet; Mycroft’s eyes unfocused and he started muttering… “I would often have a small sweet if I went out to eat–it’s impolitic to completely refuse a dessert. I almost always ate… quite a bit after coming back from seeing her, and often after Sherlock would taunt me about my weight…or my mother would…or… well anyone.”

“You ate a lot after seeing her–a heavy sugar load, and then what?” Mycroft flinched and Jim guessed, “You’d either punish yourself on the treadmill, or make yourself throw up, or something–wouldn’t you.”

“Yes…usually.”

“And if Sherly locks poked at you about it?”

“I would almost always end up eating something very sweet.”

“That’s how she did it–I wondered.”

“Did what?”

“Drugged you.” Jim shrugged, “She is very good at manipulating people, Mycroft, but she uses drugs to make it easier–drugs in the sweets would be the simplest way to get at you, especially if she could trigger you to eat them.”

Sebastian spoke up suddenly, “Might not even need to be drugs: manipulating your blood sugar levels will play havoc on your mind–cults use it all the time.”

Mycroft lay very still, looking at nothing and then said, “it’s… possible.”

“You can eat sweets at an official function, though?” Sebastian asked. “Without binging or having issues?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian held the chocolate back out, “More than this?”

“Usually much more than that, that’s hardly more than a bite or two.”

“Then if you WANT chocolate, this should be fine… but if you don’t, I can find you something more savory and less sweet.”

Jim watched Mycroft with curiosity until he finally leaned forward and opened his mouth.  Sebastian practically purred and fed it to him in three little bites, and then pulled him up and licked the chocolate off his lips.

Jim tried to keep the smirk off his face–was pretty sure he failed– and pulled himself up to catch Sebastian’s mouth as soon as he finished.  Mycroft startled badly but could hardly move away with Sebastian’s arms tightening reflexively.

Jim pulled back and nipped at Sebie’s lip, “So… Tiger… I’m feeling generous, and there are already handcuffs on the headboard…”

“Do you feel like being IN them?”

Jim wrinkled his nose, “Not THAT pair, how about the soft ones?”

Sebastian was off the bed and into the toy box in a flash: Mycroft practically flipped over as he moved.

“So… Mycroft…” Jim propped himself up on his elbow and licked his lips, “You were interested in having me over your desk, if I recall.”

“I… I was interested in you–I hadn’t quite gotten to the details…”

“So…are you staying? Or spending the night in the chair?”

Sebastian walked back and Jim slipped his wrists into the leather and plush cuffs–they were serious cuffs, honestly, just comfy–and waited.

“I… don’t…”

Sebastian pulled Mycroft’s hands over and helped him fasten the cuffs onto Jim. “You don’t have to, but…if you WANT to… why not?”

“…alright.” Mycroft took a rather shuddering breath, “Why not.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "you bastard" is still not a safeword

Sebastian was many things… stupid was not one of them. Jim wanted to play, and was voluntarily playing the down party– _which I was not going to turn down_ …

But Mycroft was a major panic trigger for him…

And apparently EVERYTHING was a potential panic trigger for Mycroft.

Sebastian assessed the information he had, and started planning fast.

 _So, first:_ “Mycroft, Jim and I have rarely had to use our safewords because we are comfortable with each other and pretty familiar with what we can both handle… but this is a really high stress situation for both of you… so… why don’t we go back to basic color codes?”

“Pardon?” Mycroft tried to sound very cool, but practicing with Jim? Sebastian could hear the nervousness.

Jim’s eyes widened just a hair. “Probably a good idea, Sebie…”

Sebastian nodded–telling Mycroft that his name was Jim’s safeword for ‘stop right the fuck now!’ was probably not a good idea.

“So Color codes…” Sebastian started moving the two of them carefully, “Green means everything is fine; yellow means I need a break or you’re pushing me too fast; red means stop right now.”

Mycroft was mostly looking perplexed as Sebastian maneuvered him behind Jim–so was Jim for that matter– “That sounds simple enough.”

“It is, but in the middle of an exciting and sometimes stressful situation, sometimes you need simple.” Sebastian stepped back toward the toys, “Stay there.”

He came back with the ridiculously soft cuffs–the ones Jim just sneered at even if he liked the texture–and a few toys. “So, Mycroft, lots of people say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ or whatever when playing with BDSM–even just simple stuff–and they don’t actually want the other person to stop, that’s why we have safewords.  I’ll try to keep an eye on your responses, but… until this is over? The word ‘no’ doesn’t mean much–‘Red’ means stop.”

“That… seems sensible.” Mycroft sounded all put together but _if he was any more tightly strung you could pluck him like a harp._

“Put your arms around Jim.” Sebastian sighed as Mycroft hesitated and finally just took his arms and moved him into position.  Mycroft behind Jim, with his arms around Jim’s waist, and Jim cuffed to the headboard…

_And BOTH of them looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind–lovely._

Sebastian locked the soft and fluffy cuffs around Mycroft’s wrists–he twisted around Jim to stare at them but didn’t look alarmed.

“Those cuffs?” Jim snorted, “Didn’t we toss those silly things?”

“No, we didn’t–and they’re Mycroft’s FIRST play cuffs so I thought soft would be better.” Sebastian saw the realization hit Jim and he ducked his head and grumbled–which was a ‘I’m sorry-you’re right,’ look from him… _come to that maybe translating would be a good idea…_

Sebastian lay down and started running his hands over Jim–and pulling him in against himself– and stroking down Mycroft’s side… _he was still trying to maintain some space between his body and Jim’s?_   Sebastian reached around and pulled them both in close.

“So… since I know Jim would rather bite off his own tongue than actually safeword, and I expect you’re almost as bad, this is how we’re playing…” Sebastian leaned over and kissed Mycroft, holding him against Jim, keeping him from moving, running his hands down to his ass… when Jim started squirming faintly between them he figured that must have gotten a response.

He pulled back, sparing a glance at Mycroft’s eyes–much darker from pupil dilation– and slid his hands down Jim, rolling him back onto Mycroft, and then starting to tease…

“Stop PLAYING Sebastian!” Jim snapped.

“So, Jim translation guide, “Sebastian laughed as he kept teasing and toying with him, “That feels good but it’s not nearly enough and I want it harder.”

Mycroft, who was DEFINITELY responding to Jim moving against him, “Ah… well, yes, I did get that impression…”

“…Except right now? I think I feel like something slow and leisurely…” Sebastian started licking and nipping his way down Jim’s chest, while one hand reached around to pet Mycroft– _the two of them were such a contrast…_

“I’ll have you skinned!” Jim snarled after he’d been toying with him for a bit

“Promises, promises.” Sebastian murmured against his hip and continued NOT giving him a blow job–just working with his hands, on both of them.

“C-could…” Mycroft started to speak and then snapped his jaw shut.

“Jim?” Sebastian looked up at two faces, both showing frustration and arousal in totally different ways, “you stop holding out on Mycroft, and I’ll pick up the pace…”

“Bastard.” Jim huffed and started letting his hips and ass move more against Mycroft behind him–Mycroft jerked and Jim laughed.

“By the way,” Sebastian moved down and started fingering Jim… and carefully stroking Mycroft,”  the words, ‘you bastard’ and ‘fucking sadist’ are not safewords in bed–if anything…” he licked far too gently around the base of Jim’s erection, “it’s a compliment.”

Jim moved his ass back trying to trap Sebastian’s fingers between the two of them and Mycroft gasped.

Sebastian looked up and grinned…

~

Mycroft had the uncomfortable feeling that Jim was trying to be reassuring by putting himself in cuffs–it wasn’t even remotely reassuring.  He’d been in cuffs in interrogation and still caused at least two  interrogators to quit, not to mention the fact that Jim’s  amused voice demanding he get the information on Sherlock still haunted Mycroft to this day…

It was hard to believe it had… bothered him, much less hurt him.

Sebastian putting cuffs on him had been momentarily quite alarming, but… they were apparently constructed of fluff, and didn’t have actual locks on them–quite unlike the cuffs he had been in when he woke up in the bed.

Jim’s cuffs locked; for all that they looked comfortable.

When Sebastian clipped his cuffs together with his arms around Jim, he finally realized that Sebastian had **noticed** how panicked he had been when Jim was pressed up behind him: he wanted nothing more than to curl up and vanish in pure humiliation.

_Bad enough that Jim could read him, but Sebastian?_

He expected Sebastian to end up behind him, as he had been– _was it only this morning?_ – but no, Jim was between them, and… unable to move away… and then after he complained about the cuffs Mycroft was wearing… well Mycroft expected to be changed into the metal ones again…

But Sebastian rather gently explained that he was doing this so I wouldn’t panic… and Jim seemed… contrite? Mycroft would have expected him to taunt about it…

_But he had been… considerate… ish._

And then Sebastian was running his hands over Mycroft, and Jim… _Jim was moving between us and… no, Jim’s pride–and mine– would probably keep either of us from using our safewords…_

_at least mine would normally, but I don’t have much left…_

_Oh!  Oh dear GOD that felt good_ … Jim was squirming and trying to get more contact with Sebastian, and Sebastian was stroking them both… _and he was so very strong but being so very soft…_

It startled Mycroft when Jim started swearing about it, but… yes the teasing was…impossible… he wanted … _more… and oh God…_

“C-could…” _You touch me more/stop touching me/more/stop…_

“Jim?” Sebastian looked up from his tormenting them, “you stop holding out on Mycroft, and I’ll pick up the pace…”

_Holding out? What?_

“Bastard.” Jim muttered and then he was moving sinuously against Mycroft, and … _!_

“By the way,” Sebastian moved  further down and his hands were in places… _and it was so much better than anyone had ever_ – “the words, ‘you bastard’ and ‘fucking sadist’ are not safewords in bed–if anything…” he did something that caused Jim to  gasp and arch, “it’s a compliment.”

Jim trapped Sebastian’s fingers between them and moaned.

Mycroft couldn’t even think anymore, there was simply a motion that he couldn’t have said who started… moving into  the touches, trying to get more… somehow his arms slid up Jim’s body and ended up near Jim’s mouth: he started  doing obscene things to Mycroft’s fingers with his tongue…

And Sebastian’s hands… _oh god… his hands…_

Mycroft heard desperate whimpers and pleas for more, and he wasn’t sure if it was Jim, or himself, or both of them…

“Sebie!  PLEASE!!!” that was Jim

“Oh God… more…no…” that was Mycroft.

And there was a soft distant click of a cap and then the hands were more slick, and fingers were on him, and in him, and Jim was KEENING in his arms… and he wanted more…

“Please…” Mycroft didn’t even recognize his own voice; it was a small low desperate plea.

And then there was more… and more… and…

He slowly came back to himself with Sebastian stroking over his side gently, and Jim lying trembling a bit–or was he trembling?– between them… and Sebastian kissed Jim, and then Mycroft.

~

 _God damn that Tiger to hell and back, he was entirely too good at this_.  Jim had been reduced to mewling ‘please’–in front of MYCROFT!– instead of just… reassuring Mycroft that he was safe… and getting some attention… and…

 _You needed it_ , whispered his more sensible side.

 _Fuck that, I WHIMPERED in front of MYCROFT!_ His pride tried to reassert itself.

_He wasn’t any better…_

Jim finally resolved to think about it later and settled against Sebastian as he kissed him, and then kissed Mycroft. “I’m still gonna skin you…” he mumbled into a big strong chest.

“Uh huh.”

Mycroft was about as tall as Sebie, but a bit softer… not without muscles, but not a Tiger.  It was surprisingly comfortable to lie here between them.

Sebastian undid the cuffs on his wrists and he moaned as he pulled his arms down–he’d pulled on them a bit much: Sebastian started rubbing his neck and shoulder, and much to his shock he felt Mycroft lean into him.  He slid one arm around Sebastian and hesitantly slid one arm down between them to Mycroft’s hands…

He really did have nice hands.

Jim let himself doze–Tiger would keep him safe– with his fingers interlaced with Mycroft’s, and Mycroft laying up against his back…

_It was a strange world…_

 


	18. Practically Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and murder

Mycroft woke up to the realization that the soft fur was no longer around one of his wrists. “wha–”

“I just need to get up, Mycroft.” Jim’s voice was a breath, “Don’t wake up Tiger.”

And then the warmth was gone and Mycroft opened his eyes to see Sebastian  turning towards him in bed. He muttered something and threw his arm over Mycroft before settling again.  After a few minutes Sebastian started a slow, stroking, petting motion that left Mycroft breathless.

“wrr?”  Sebastian cracked an eye open and looked momentarily puzzled, but then he pulled Mycroft in close and began… exploring… with his hands.

“Ah… j-Jim…”

“Snuck out to pull his dignity together,” rumbled Sebastian before he started doing… things… to Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft meant to say something else, but he couldn’t recall what it was.  Eventually Sebastian was fingering him in a way that ought to cause him panic… really it ought to… but all he could focus on was how good it felt, and somehow he found that he had wrapped his own hand around some rather personal parts of Sebastian…

Sebastian seemed pleased, at least judging from his rumbling noises and the increased attention  he gave to Mycroft’s neck, and collar bone… and other places.

He felt the bed dip as another body joined in, and a smaller hand reached between them.  Sebastian threw his head back and moaned before resuming his vampire like attentions to Mycroft’s neck.  Just before the world dissolved in sparks and pleasure Jim leaned over Sebastian’s shoulder and kissed him…catching his lip in Jim’s teeth just briefly, before turning back to Sebastian.

When Mycroft came back to himself completely, Jim was guiding his hand against Sebastian… when he regained enough coherence to do that himself, Jim moved his hands–one  continuing to tease and toy with Sebastian, one bracing himself… _oh… he was… aherm… no wonder Sebastian was moving like that…_

Mycroft once again found himself covered with  a sticky mess… made somewhat more bearable by the pleased look on both of their faces, and the knowledge that he had participated in undoing both of them, between last night and … was it morning?

“Shower?” Jim sounded entirely too chipper and alert.

“Coffee.” Countered Sebastian.

“In this I must take Jim’s side…” Mycroft reluctantly admitted–he wanted to wash this off– “although coffee or tea with some priority after.”

Sebastian muttered darkly about being outnumbered, to which Jim just snickered.  Mycroft shortly found himself back in the shower, where the nearly ritualistic washing was repeated–it was disturbingly, pleasantly, intimate, more so than… well what he’d just done. He wasn’t restrained this time.

He was once again permitted to dress–this time more of his own choosing, although still less formal than his own tastes– and then they were seated at breakfast…

It was… surreal.

“So, Mycroft,” Jim said casually as he was slathering a truly extraordinary amount of jam onto his toast. “Obviously if your sister has her hooks into Sherlock, you can’t contact him or do ANYTHING that would give him a hint you were alive…”

Mycroft winced, “No, certainly not.  Aside from anything you might wish it would endanger him.”

“I assume she’d be monitoring computers…” Sebastian said in between bites of food.

“Certainly, Sebie, but she does have a few blind spots–including the fact that I’m alive.” Jim smiled fondly at the man.

“I still say I can drop her from far enough away that–”

“No, you really can’t, Sebie: that prison she holes up in is a well-constructed fortress, and we can’t predict when she would be out where you COULD get line of sight.”

Mycroft had to agree, “Especially now that she has Sherlock, and our parents, coming to visit here there… she has no reason to expose herself.”

“You’re right.” Jim sighed and a glum silence followed for much of the remaining breakfast.

As they were finishing, Sebastian suddenly cleared his throat. “I think you may be wrong, sir.”

Jim’s eyes widened, “wrong? Me?!” he said it with exaggerated shock.

“It’s been known to happen rarely…” Sebastian grinned at him.

“Ok, Tiger, how am I wrong?” Jim perched his chin on his hand and waited expectantly.  Mycroft had to admit to some curiosity as well.

“Technically you are both wrong…”

“Certainly not.” Mycroft gave him his best poker face, “The odds of both of us being wrong are astronomical.”

Jim slowly turned to look at him, “Mycroft… are you JOKING?”

“It was, in fact, a bit of dry humor, yes.”

“Good God, you DO have a sense of humor–I’d wondered.”

Sebastian laughed, “Lord help me, I thought you were serious…”

“Sadly I only wish I were infallible,” Mycroft shook his head, “I have too much evidence to the contrary… so: how are we in error?”

“There are a few things that all of you genius sorts have in common–not as many things as I would have thought but…” Sebastian shrugged, “Genius needs an audience,” he nodded at Jim.

“True.” Jim nodded.

“And boredom is corrosive…”

Mycroft sighed, “It can be even for myself–although I tolerate it more.”

“BUT,” Sebastian nodded at Mycroft, “You all seem to like your habits, and your systems… you get used to seeing or doing things certain ways and it takes a crowbar to change it.”

Jim winced, “I’m very flexible, Sebie…”

Sebastian snorted, “Only in bed, sweetheart.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “I had thought that Jim’s watchwords were chaos and change…”

Jim muttered something unintelligible and Sebastian grinned, “Oh, on the surface? Sure… but down where it counts?  Not on a bet.  You may have different habits, and different things that matter, but… try to make you change your habits and you balk–hard.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t know,” Mycroft stared down at the table,

“It took forever to get Jim to be comfortable nude, and he still isn’t–that’s just one change and it took years.” Sebastian shrugged.  “Look, the point is that Euros is the same: she needs an audience, she won’t tolerate boredom, and she has gotten used to going out and playing with the little people toys: she won’t give that up.”

“You have a point, Sebie…” Jim considered. “You think she will keep going out playing with people, and we can target her there?”

“I honestly think it would be better to target her in the prison,” Sebastian shrugged, “She’ll be more on guard out.”

Mycroft just stared at him open mouthed, “and how do you plan to manage THAT?”

“Well, the former person in charge,” he nodded at Mycroft,” is right here, and the security is lax enough to allow your parents and brother to visit, from what you said. That means we have an advantage–they won’t have changed everything.”

Jim frowned, “If she has the slightest concern about her own safety–if– she will anticipate Mycroft’s tactics more than ours…”

“But not Mycroft’s knowledge and YOUR tactics,” Sebastian flashed a wicked grin. “Who could anticipate the two of you working together?”

Mycroft looked at Jim, who was looking back at him in what he presumed was equal consideration. “It… is not something I would have considered likely.” Mycroft admitted.

“IF she ever thought I was alive, AND she thought I had Mycroft,” Jim was tapping his fingers and looking off at nothing, “she would estimate it would take me a lot of time to get anything out of him–if I could.  Her… concepts of persuasion or even force are limited.”

“They are?” Mycroft looked dubious.

“She has a big gun–her hypnosis and verbal programming skills– she never bothered with much else: why should she? Everything else she knows is from you or your uncle Rudy, and…” he suddenly looked at Mycroft and grinned wickedly, “She knows that wouldn’t work on you… beatings? Waterboarding? Electricity, verbal trickery, and all that?” Jim shrugged, “IF it got anywhere it would take a long time.”

Sebastian interjected, “and that assumes she thinks Mycroft survived, and Jim survived.”

Jim nodded slowly, “highly unlikely, which means she might defend against a surviving Mycroft–unlikely– and by now she will have assumed I am long dead, but even if she knew I survived?  No… you are quite right, Sebie, she won’t anticipate the two of us working together.”

Mycroft hesitated, “If I were to act against her I would do so in the prison…”

Jim considered, “She’s far more vulnerable outside of it… but we could use the prison resources, and the CCTV cameras to track her movements… especially if we could predict them.” Jim smiled sharply, “Mycroft? I’m going to need details of what she was doing with people that you know of… Sebastian is right: she won’t give up a toy easily.”

“She was playing John Watson’s therapist, for a short while… as I said.”

Jim frowned, “She wouldn’t have given that toy up–too good a leash on Sherlock.”

“I would not have said so after Mary, but they seem to have mended some fences of late.”

“She… played with Molly indirectly?” Jim had a slow undercurrent in his voice that Mycroft did not like.

“Yes? She claimed there was a threat if Sherlock”

“details don’t quite matter… Molly is important to Sherlock, and Molly is herself rather hung up on him…”

“That also seemed to have… faded.  The results of the phone call–Euros’ games– also damaged that relationship from what I could see,” Mycroft  poked at his suddenly tasteless breakfast, “Before I was rather absorbed in fighting for my political life, as opposed to my physical one.”

“She’ll be toying with John and Molly then, and probably anyone else she can use as a lever…” Jim’s voice was dropping into his lower register and his accent becoming more prominent.  Mycroft glanced over at Sebastian to see him watching Jim in mixed fascination and wariness.

“she’ll be getting her hooks into the rest of your little cabal of intelligence people as well–assuming she hadn’t started before…no, she started before… she needed you out of the way, Mycroft, so she used your rivals… the question is whether it was directly or indicrectly…”

“Very likely.” Mycroft nodded slowly, “Elizabeth–Lady Smallwood– was involved in sending Sherlock out of the country, before your apparent re-appearance, and while I believe she might have spoken for giving me a chance to–”

“Magnussen had her on a leash, didn’t he?”

“yes… She got Sherlock involved, despite my request.”  Mycroft frowned, “And she…we have a history, a bit, and after her husband’s suicide she seemed to be interested in me…”

“So… she wanted you?  but she was married to Lord Smallwood–which I always thought was a funny name.” Jim suddenly changed affect and brightened up, “That marriage wouldn’t have been  a good one no matter what–well maybe at first when she looked a lot younger–his tastes ran to young teens…”

“I had understood that was a one-time indiscretion?”

Jim cackled, “No way. He had a very quiet arrangement with a few procurers: he only liked  them if they looked young–didn’t matter if they were or not, but they had to look it.”

“… I had no idea…” Mycroft frowned, “so even if she met his tastes at one point… she certainly didn’t by the time of his death.”

Sebastian cleared his throat, “Why not just divorce him?”

“My impression had been that she did love him, but also the scandal… and the loss of  the title and estates…” Mycroft shrugged. “She contacted Sherlock against my wishes, and seemed to think I would forgive her for that.”  He thought back, “She rather more aggressively tried to express comfort, and… made it clear she was available.  Harkening back to our earlier… arrangements.”

“which were?” Jim asked with an eyebrow raised, “Your past relationships seemed limited.”

“She worked in intelligence under Uncle Rudy.” Mycroft admitted to his tea which seemed to be the only edible thing anymore. “we worked together on occasion–she made it clear she was interested.”

“She knew about Euros from then?”

“yes.”

“Then Euros had contact with her from THAT time period?  Oh honey, THINK…”

It hit Mycroft then that he had completely overlooked that… somehow. “i… couldn’t… I should have… why didn’t I see that?” he gave up all pretense of his tea and rubbed his forehead, “Because she didn’t want me to, of course.” He looked tiredly over at the two men, “She was never supposed to have direct contact, but she did travel to the prison, and after she gained her current position she did so more often–not only for Euros, but other prisoners… the fact that she was never supposed to be alone with my sister would not have helped.”

Jim was smiling almost unnaturally broadly, “so Love is one of her puppets… and she would have likely brought over some of the other people as well… and Euros did so love having her toys playing different parts–each unaware of what the others were doing. So Lady Smallwood gives you the chance–as far as she believes– to regain some of your standing, and that puts you in perfect position for her other pawns to remove you.” 

Jim had that darkly delighted look that always unnerved Mycroft. “Awesome.”

“Great, yes, its bloody brilliant–can I kill her?”

“Oh we’re going to have to kill a LOT of people, Sebie,” Jim looked like a child at Christmas–or his brother with a utterly delightful murder–“and if Mycroft wants to safeguard his family? He’s going to have to help…. Just imagine it all THREE of us working together on a mass murder…It’s practically Christmas!”


End file.
